#getting halfway through a story and forgetting how to write

[neil-gaiman]

This isn’t a question, but I want to thank you for your books and how they’ve impacted my life.

Over thirteen years ago, I read Neverwhere for the first time and it changed what kind of writer I wanted to be. I went on to read more of your books—my other two favourites were The Graveyard Book and The Ocean at the End of the Lane.

About 11 or so years ago, I asked you on Twitter if I could read Stardust on a Twitch livestream, and you responded, “Fine by me”. It was one of my best streams, and while life got in the way of me doing more, I still remember it incredibly fondly.

Ten years ago I had a baby, and while he was an infant, I read him, Fortunately, the Milk, in an attempt to read him a book. He didn’t seem interested. I decided I’d try again some other time perhaps. But I did resolve to get him to read The Graveyard Book someday.

Nine years ago, when I was a mother of a one-year-old, I posted a status on Facebook simply saying, “We do not forget.”

Two years ago, I went on holiday, and I downloaded the audio book version of The Graveyard Book from our local library. My eight-year-old son listened to it as he fell asleep, though he ended up missing some parts, and we shelved it.

Last year, he read Coraline and didn’t like it. That isn’t your fault. He read Charlotte’s Web and didn’t like that either. He just didn’t quite have the understanding for them.

This year, he read Coraline and liked it. I told him it was from the same author as The Graveyard Book. He lamented that he never finished The Graveyard Book, and I said he could always download it from the library again.

Then about a month ago, he and I went through a tough time. I was really stressed about life, he wasn’t doing so well either, and our relationship got strained. I was angry with him all the time. I needed a break from him, or I thought I did. But one day when he was at his dad’s I realised that I wouldn’t get this time back. That I needed to fix it. So I asked him if he wanted me to read to him at bedtime. Just like when he was little. And we settled on The Graveyard Book.

On nights when he got to bed on time, I’d read a chapter. It often meant stretching past bedtime, but I could never stop halfway. It had been years since I’d read it too, and I found myself remembering things I’d forgotten. I’d watch his dark eyes widen whenever things got exciting, and I loved when he would interrupt me with an important revelation. “It’s Scarlett! His friend!” he’d say. “The dog! The grey dog!” “I know what Silas is!” He would tell me that I did the voices so well, that it seemed to match each character so perfectly.

We didn’t read every night, but it was a treat when we did. One night we had an argument and he told me he hated me. That he wished I was dead. And that he wanted to be with his dad. I told him to go take a shower, and that I’d ask his dad to come get him. His dad said no, but agreed to talk to him on the phone. After the shower, my son apologised for what he said. I said okay, and told him to call his dad to chat. After their call, he asked if we would still have story time. I asked if he preferred that or to have some space. He said he wanted both, but wanted story time more than space. So I read to him. It was the chapter when Bod and Silas argued, and then apologised to each other. Halfway through that chapter, my son asked for snuggles. I said, what happened to space? And he said, “I want snuggles more than space.”

We were sad when it ended. We finished it last weekend. I cried as I read it. But it was a beautiful sadness. We’ve talked about it a bit since then, to process it. He says he would like to read more about Silas and Bod’s adventures and asked if there was fan fiction about it. I told him to look, and to write some if there wasn’t. Perhaps I’ll write some too, just for him.

Last night he was at his dad’s and I was browsing Facebook and sent him a couple of his old pictures. Then I found an old post. From exactly nine years ago. And so I sent it to him.

It brought tears to my eyes. I did not remember making that post, and I’ve forgotten a great deal over the years, but I hope I do not forget these little moments with my son. But even if I do, I have them written down here to remind me again.

And thank you. For the words you’ve written and the impact you’ve had on our lives and hearts. I hope that your life holds the same amount of joy and love that you’ve given to others with your words.

That made me so happy. Thank you. I hope you and your son keep growing together.

[writingpandagoth]

Hiii So you know how Remus&Tonks met and fell in love with each other during the order meetings? And how he refused to acknowledge her feelings at first? Reader is an auror at the ministry(Her and Tonks are bestiesss). She has a crush on Severus since her school years and her feelings resurfaced when she met him at meetings. Reader confessed to Sev but he is in denial. So her and Tonks basically have to comfort each other because their crushes are so blind. The rest is really up to you (an happy ending if possible) Thankyou!

Hey!

Sooo basically I started writing and then I kept writing and then I realized it's gonna be another long one😂

So here it is.

I hope you enjoy!

Blind Spots

You met Tonks your very first week at Hogwarts.

Not in a grand, fate-sealed way. You were both trying to get through the same too-small doorway between the main corridor and the Transfiguration stairwell and ended up elbowing each other in the ribs. She swore loudly. You apologized. She grinned and asked if you wanted to trade one of your Cauldron Cakes for her extra Sugar Quill. It was an uneven deal. 

You traded without thinking about it.

From there, it was natural.

You were drawn to her like gravity. She had this energy—loud, impulsive, impossible to ignore. Always knocking over her ink pot or tripping up the stairs. Her hair changed color constantly, sometimes by accident. Sometimes on purpose. You found it fascinating. Not just the magic, but her—her fearlessness, her ridiculous jokes, the way she could light up a room just by walking in.

She liked that you were quieter. That you always carried extra parchment, and didn’t laugh when she asked you to help her charm her homework to sing. You balanced each other out. She got you into trouble. You got her out of it. By third year, people had stopped referring to you as individuals. It was always "Tonks and her shadow" or "You know, the one Tonks always follows."

Late nights in the library turned into whispered stories and half-written notes passed back and forth in class. You talked about everything—teachers, spells, what it might be like to be grown up and away from all this. She wanted to be everything: a curse-breaker, a magizoologist, maybe a spy. You wanted to become an Auror since your second year.

It was in your fifth year that she found out your well kept secret.

It was after Potions class. Tonks was, once again, halfway through ranting about how unfair Snape was when you slipped up and said,

“But he’s not wrong, really. His feedback’s just… intense.”

Tonks tilted her head, smirking. “You defend him a lot for someone who supposedly hates his guts.”

“I don’t defend him,” you said, a little too quickly.

“Oh, you absolutely do. Merlin’s saggy left—Do you fancy Professor Snape?”

“I do not!”

"You do! You are even blushing!"

Your silence was damning.

Tonks burst out laughing. “You’ve got a crush on the King of Scowls! This is fantastic.”

You buried your face in your hands. "He..isn't so bad...he just... he has this aura about him....”

She leaned back dramatically, hand to her heart. “Your secret’s safe. But I’m never letting you forget this.”

And she didn’t. For the rest of school, it was a running joke—her nudging you every time Professor Snape entered a room, or drawing little hearts next to his name in your notes. But behind the teasing was something steadier.

She never mocked you in front of others. Never crossed a line. And when she saw how your face fell after one of his colder comments, she was the first to hand you a chocolate frog and change the subject.

You were best friends in the truest sense: no ceremony, no drama. Just loyalty. Comfort. A quiet kind of love you didn’t have words for back then.

Even after school ended, you and Tonks never drifted—not even for a moment.

If anything, you got closer. While others scattered to different departments, continents, or careers, you and Tonks made one unspoken decision: stick together. You applied for Auror training the same week, got accepted the same day, and started the grueling program under Alastor Moody with matching black eyes and bruised ribs within the month.

Moody was ruthless, paranoid, and brilliant. He didn’t care who your family was or what grades you got—he cared if you could think under pressure and survive being cursed in six different ways before breakfast.

Tonks thrived in chaos. You thrived by thinking three steps ahead. He hated that you came as a package deal, but even he had to admit: you worked well together.

You’d train all day, then collapse back into the tiny, crooked apartment you’d scraped together rent for in the dodgiest corner of Diagon Alley. The floors creaked, the windows stuck, and your upstairs neighbor was most definitely raising something illegal, but it was yours.

Living together felt like an extension of school—only messier.

Tonks left clothes in every room, sang off-key in the shower, and brewed experimental teas that occasionally exploded. You organized the spice rack alphabetically, hexed a laundry-folding charm into the sofa cushions, and always had healing balm stocked. She stole your socks. You stole her biscuits. She changed her hair color depending on your mood more often than her own.

It worked.

On the hard days—when Moody tore you down in training or your legs ached from endless drills—you’d both sprawl across the living room floor, limbs tangled, laughing at nothing. 

She never lets you spiral. Not for long. The second you start sounding even vaguely self-pitying, she cuts in with, 

"Okay, but let’s not forget your ex once hexed his own eyebrows off because he thought you were flirting with a waiter."

You nearly choked laughing when she said that the first time. You still do.

She was your family.

—

Auror life is exhausting. Between endless paperwork, midnight patrols, and cleaning up after Ministry scandals, you barely have time to breathe.

One night, she arrives looking unusually serious. The door slams shut behind her, and she tosses her coat over the back of a chair before saying, "Moody pulled me aside after our patrol. Said he wants us both at a meeting tomorrow night. Confidential. Off the record."

You blink. "Order of the Phoenix?"

She nods. "Didn’t say it out loud, but come on. What else would it be?"

You stare at her, letting that sink in. You've heard whispers—of Dumbledore assembling people, of something bigger than what the Ministry's pretending to handle. You didn’t think you’d be pulled into that.

Tonks flops onto the couch. “Told him we’d be there. He grunted, which I’m pretty sure was approval.”

With the flat dim and quiet, the weight of it settles in. You get up to make more tea. She adds some dragon brandy to both mugs without having to ask.

“What do you think it’ll be like?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Dunno. Moody said to ‘expect people you won’t like but will have to trust.’ So... tense. Probably weird. Dangerous.”

You sit beside her, knees touching. “You think it’s real? That this...war that’s coming—it’s as bad as they say?”

Tonks doesn't answer right away. Her hair shifts to a darker shade, a sign she’s thinking hard. Then she says quietly, “I think it’s worse. And I think we’re going to be in the thick of it.”

You nod. Sip your tea. Try not to let your hands shake.

“Whatever happens,” she adds, bumping her shoulder into yours, “you and me? Still a team. We will go through it together.”

“Always.”

You both fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch that night, the warmth of your shared blanket and mission stitching something fierce and unspoken between you.

The next night, you and Tonks arrive early—Moody’s orders, of course. Grimmauld Place is a little more haunted-house than war base, all dim lighting, creaky staircases, and portraits that grumble as you walk past.

Tonks manages to trip over the umbrella stand before the front door even closes behind you. You grab her elbow just in time to keep her from face-planting into a side table.

“Off to a graceful start,” she mutters, fixing her hair—which shifts from a calm brunette to an agitated mustard yellow. “At this rate we’ll get kicked out before we’re recruited.”

“Don’t touch anything, the walls look like they will curse you otherwise.” you whisper, eyeing a snarling family tree on the wall.

Inside the drawing room, you find a loose ring of chairs forming around a big table. Most of the seats are still empty, but the few people already there give you a once-over—Kingsley nods at Tonks and you briefly giving you a small thumbs up. Moody grunts and gestures toward two chairs.

You and Tonks drop into them immediately. She leans toward you. “Who’s that?”

“Pretty sure that’s Emmeline Vance. See the robes? Old school dueling champion.”

Tonks raises an eyebrow. “Think she’d train me? I want to win at something other than ‘most likely to trip over her own wand.’”

You stifle a laugh.

More people start to arrive—Molly and Arthur Weasley step through the door, Arthur spotting you and Tonks immediately.

He gives a warm, fatherly smile and says, “Ah, good to see you girls here,” before settling into a seat beside Kingsley.

A moment later, someone you recognize from old newspaper clippings and reputation alone strolls in—Sirius Black, all swagger and shadows, jaw clenched like he’s constantly daring someone to challenge him. Tonks elbows you excitedly. “That’s my cousin. He’s… complicated.”

Before you can answer her

The air shifts.

Severus Snape steps through like a shadow that decided to walk on two legs. Tall, severe, with his long black robes trailing behind him like smoke. His presence drags silence with it, unsettling and total. Heads turn. Conversations die.

You fall halfway out of your chair, catching your shin on the table leg and wincing loudly. Tonks’ hand darts out to yank you back into your seat.

“Oh Merlin,” she breathes. “Is that—oh, it is. It’s him.”

You try to school your face into something neutral, something professional—but your ears are definitely hot.

“It's actually him! It's Snape!” she hisses, kicking your ankle.

“I can see that!”

Severus sits across the circle, arms crossed, looking like every chair personally offended him.

Tonks leans in. “He still looks like he bathes in vinegar and regrets. But I can’t lie, the hair works in this lighting.”

You glare at her. Before you can reply, the door opens again.

Remus walks in quietly, a book tucked under his arm, soft robes brushing the floor. His expression is mild, almost absent, until he sees Moody and nods and then takes the empty seat next to Sirius.

Tonks makes a sound between a cough and a hiccup. Her hair immediately floods pink.

You stare at her. “You okay?”

She whispers, “Who is that? And Where has he been hiding all my life?”

“Probably reading somewhere with better lighting,” you murmur.

“I want to marry his jumper,” she breathes.

“You don’t even know him yet.”

“I can dream.”

The meeting starts, but neither of you register more than every third word.

Moody launches into a gruff update about shifting patrol assignments, but your brain is too busy trying to process how Severus still looks more like a storm wrapped in robes than a man. He’s scribbling something in a small, weathered notebook with quick, precise movements, and every so often he glances up—he never looks at you, thank Merlin, but you can’t help flinching each time, just in case.

Next to you, Tonks is sitting bolt upright, hands folded like she’s trying to behave. Her hair is still a bit too pink and her eyes haven’t left Remus for more than five seconds at a time.

“Stop looking at him like he’s your Patronus,” you whisper sideways.

She whispers back, “He probably is my Patronus.”

You bite down a snort. Emmeline Vance begins correcting the placement of some ward markers on a wall map, but all you see is how Remus rubs the edge of his thumb along the side of a parchment, brows furrowed in thought.

And then Severus speaks.

"They are shifting their operations to Wiltshire. You’re wasting time watching Knockturn Alley."

His voice slices across the room like a spell. Cold, certain, unmistakably him.

You gasp, too audibly. Heads turn.

Tonks promptly kicks your shin under the table. "Subtle," she hisses.

You hiss back, “He just—talked.”

“He’s allowed to talk!”

You sink lower in your chair. “Did you hear his voice? It’s like dark velvet and guilt.”

Tonks makes a strangled noise. “Oh Merlin, stop.”

“You stop looking at Remus like he’s a dessert trolley.”

“At least mine smiles. Yours looks like he’d rather be hexed than hugged.”

“Yours literally has holes in his sleeves.”

“He’s rustic!”

“Rustic?!?”

You both clamp your mouths shut when Kingsley raises an eyebrow in your direction.

The next few minutes are spent pretending to jot notes while only half-listening to talk of safehouses and encrypted messages. Meanwhile, Severus licks a smudge of ink from his finger before turning the page of the notebook and you fall out of your chair again.

Tonks catches your expression and covers her mouth with her sleeve.

When Moody finally closes the meeting with, “Get some rest. Tomorrow, the real work begins,” both you and Tonks almost jump up from your seats and bolt out of Grimmauld Place.

The moment your flat door slams shut behind you, she lets out a sound somewhere between a squeal, a gasp, and a tiny scream.

“Okay. Okay, what just happened?” she blurts, pacing like she’s being chased by her own thoughts. “Remus is—He’s—He looks like a worn-out library book I want to press to my chest and never return.”

You drop your bag by the door and collapse onto the couch, your face still flushed. Tonks flops onto the couch beside you with all the grace of a flobberworm. “And then he spoke. His voice is like chamomile tea and rainy Sundays.”

“Your hair turned aggressively pink.”

“I panicked!” she whines. “I didn’t even say anything to him, just made weird eye contact and probably looked like I was about to confess to a crime.”

You let out a whine at the memory of the meeting „I actually almost fell out of my chair when Severus walked in. That’s so embarrassing! It’s like my body decided to reenact Swan Lake—horribly.”

Tonks howls. “You did jerk like he cast a silent spell at you. And your face—pure panic. I thought he’d hexed you just by walking past.”

You throw a pillow at her. “Severus Snape, Tonks! You know I’ve never really gotten over it.”

“Oh, I knew, but seeing it live was ten times more dramatic than I expected.”

You sigh, flopping back with a groan. “He still has that voice. That impossibly sharp, cold-as-ice, absolutely-don’t-talk-back voice. He spoke and I forgot what year it was.”

“He licked ink off his thumb and you went into cardiac arrest,” Tonks snorts.

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“Well I’m not sorry about it!”

Silence stretched between you. Both completely lost in your own thoughts of what happened at the meeting.

After what seemed hours Tonks exhales dramatically and mutters, “We’re going to die. And it’s going to be because we were too busy making heart-eyes to notice a hex.”

You nod still mentally recovering. “This will be the end of us. But seriously how can you fall for someone you just saw and didn’t even speak to?”

Tonks covers her face. “How can you still be crushing on a man who looks like he’d rather die than compliment anyone?”

“Remus probably owns exactly three shirts and thinks wool counts as formalwear.”

“We’re both doomed,” she says, grinning.

You sigh dramatically. 

Tonks leans her head on your shoulder. “I give it a week before one of us doodles hearts in our field report.”

“Too late,” you mumble.

She gasps, sitting up. “You didn’t.”

You glance away. “Just initials. Maybe. Twice.”

Tonks lets out a scandalized squeal and whacks you with a cushion. “You are hopeless.”

“Completely hopeless,” you agree, laughing.

And the flat rings with it—relief and giddy, schoolgirl chaos and something sweeter hiding underneath.

—

At all the meetings that came after that, you try to focus. You really do. But every time Severus speaks, you feel it again—that familiar spark just beneath your ribs. His voice is still cold, deeper than you remember from school, tinged with exhaustion. But there’s still that fire in it. A quiet, deadly fire that ignites something in you every time he opens his mouth.

You swore to yourself that you’re going to speak to him. You even rehearse it in your head. You even walked up to him after the meetings ended, only to chicken out and pretend to check a parchment on the wall. Or tie your boot. Or suddenly remember a nonexistent appointment.

Every. Single. Time.

Tonks, meanwhile, is thriving.

She starts chatting with Remus after meetings—little things at first. Passing the sugar when they gather in the kitchen afterward. Asking him what he’s reading. Making him laugh with some absurd story from work.

You watch it all unfold with awe. Tonks, so bold and awkwardly charming, and Remus, who slowly stops avoiding eye contact and starts seeking her out.

“You should just finally talk to him,” she whispers to you during one particularly long and boring debrief about apparition grid safety.

“I will,” you whisper back.

“You won’t.”

“Shut up.”

She grins and nudges you with her knee under the table.

But she was right, at the rate you were going, you never actually going to talk to him.

Every time Severus meets your eyes, it's like looking straight into a Pensieve full of barbed wire. And no matter how many times you remind yourself you’re not a teenager anymore, your stomach still flips like one.

So you sit. And you listen. And you steal glances. And you wait.

"You’re staring again," Tonks mutters one night, bumping your knee under the table.

"Was not."

She raises an eyebrow. "You absolutely were. Want me to spill my Butterbeer on him so you can swoop in with a napkin and a smile?"

"That is the worst plan I’ve ever heard."

"Worked on Remus."

You both glance across the table. Remus, is currently nose-deep in a book and doing a stellar job pretending everyone doesn’t exist, not even really bothering to listen to what's talked about..

"Worked?" you snort. "He's pretending you're part of the wallpaper."

"Because he's noble," she says, grimacing.

You laugh, but the ache lingers. You’re women in waiting. Orbiting two emotionally unavailable men.

Suddendly the tension at the meeting turns thicker than dragonhide. Severus just brought up faulty recon near Malfoy Manor, when Sirius bristles like he’s been hexed.

“Of course you’d know all about Malfoy’s whereabouts,” Sirius snaps, leaning forward in his chair like he’s spoiling for a duel. “Still keeping in touch with your old mates, are you Snivellus?”

Severus doesn’t even look at him. “Unlike you, Black, I don’t rely on nostalgia and guesswork.”

Sirius laughs humorlessly. “Right. Because nothing says trustworthy like a Dark Mark and a superiority complex.”

“Better a mark I chose to turn from than a name I hide behind while rotting in my family’s attic,” Severus replies, voice razor-sharp.

Remus lowers his book finally and steps in, calm but firm. “Alright, let’s not—”

“No,” Sirius cuts him off, eyes flashing. “Let’s. Why is he even here? Why should we trust a man who only shows up when it’s convenient and slinks back into the shadows the moment it’s dangerous?”

Severus turns to him slowly. “And what is it you do? Aside from pacing the floorboards and snapping at people who are actually risking something?”

Sirius shoots to his feet. “I’ve fought for this cause—”

“Fought?” Severus scoffs. “Hiding in your parents house with a bottle of firewhisky isn’t fighting.”

Sirius sneers, voice rising, "Says the greasy little git who spent half his life licking Voldemort’s boots? You are not loyal. You're pitiful. Always hanging around in the corner like a curse no one bothered to lift."

Your chair screeches as you stand. “Enough!”

Everyone freezes.

Your voice rises, sharp and blistering. “How dare you!? Severus stands in front of that monster alone risking his life every single second just so we have intel on what's going on! He could have run away but he doesn't and keeps risking being found out. While you—” your voice cracks with fury—“you sit in this house, barking like a chained dog, snapping at anyone who reminds you that the world kept turning without you.”

Sirius starts to speak, but you’re already on fire. “You think sneering at him makes you brave? You think calling him names makes you useful? The only thing you've contributed to this war in months is your bitterness. At least Severus earned his place at this table. What exactly have you done, besides act like a schoolboy with a grudge?”

The air goes dead still. Even the walls seem to hold their breath.

“You think you know him—” Sirius tries again.

“I know enough,” you snap. “I know he doesn’t get praise. He doesn’t get friends or thank you’s or a warm bed at night. He gets suspicion and scars. And he still shows up. While you—you sit here and hurl insults like it’s a Quidditch match and you’re mad no one handed you the snitch. So unless you do not actually have anything damn useful to say. Sit your whiny ass down and shut up!”

The silence that follows is absolute. Even the portrait on the wall stops muttering.

Severus stares at you like you’ve hexed the floor out from under him.

You sit back down, fists clenched in your lap, breath tight.

No one dares to speak up for a long time.

Sirius slowly sinks back into his chair, his jaw tight but silent. He doesn’t look at you. Or anyone. For once, his mouth stays shut.

Remus glances at you, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, respect, maybe even a little awe. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling.

Tonks leans over and whispers, “You might’ve actually broken him.”

Around the room, others are blinking. Molly and Arthur look like proud parents, whose child just won every trophy possible. Kingsley hides a smirk behind his hand. Even Moody tries not to smirk.

But Severus—he doesn’t move. He just keeps staring at you. Not with his usual scowl or cold detachment, but with something harder to decipher. Like he’s seeing you properly for the first time. And that’s when the heat crawls up your neck.

You suddenly realize what you’ve done.

You look down, mortified. You just publicly annihilated the cousin of your best friend, defended the most controversial man in the Order, and now you’re being stared at like you grew another head.

You cough into your sleeve and mutter, “...Too much?”

Tonks snorts. “Perfect amount.” 

"Alright, back on track." Moody’s voice boomed out, snapping the room back to order. The meeting limped along to its conclusion, mostly quiet, the usual sniping and debates subdued.

When it finally ended, you stood slowly, still feeling the echo of your own voice in your chest. Molly had cooked—an impressive spread of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pasties, and buttered carrots—and people lingered more than usual.

To your surprise, Severus didn’t vanish like usually. He stayed and even took a plate.

You and Tonks found yourselves off to the side, standing half in the doorway, watching the group move about the kitchen.

“I still can’t believe you said all that,” Tonks said around a mouthful of roast. “You basically put Sirius Black in his place and he just sat down like he was a child. A really quiet one.”

You rubbed your hands over your face. “He just really pissed me off with what he was saying. I wanted him to shut up.”

“You should be proud. It was art. Molly looked like she wanted to applaud. Remus definitely did mentally.

"I am never going to talk ever again.”

“That’s a shame,” came a low voice behind you.

You jumped.

Severus.

Tonks blinked at him, blinked at you, then grinned so wide her cheeks dimpled. “Right. I’ll just—go pretend I have something to do in the pantry.”

She disappeared with a wink, leaving you suddenly very alone.

Severus stood a few paces from you, holding a cup of tea. He didn’t look angry. Just… unreadable.

“I didn’t need you to stand up for me,” he said finally.

“I know,” you replied, meeting his eyes. “It wasn’t about that. I just—” You hesitated. “I couldn’t stand hearing him yap through another meeting. He’s like a howler that never shuts off. And what he was saying about you was just not okay.”

A pause. And then—unexpectedly—his mouth twitched. Not a smile. But close.

He looked at you again, longer this time. “You were always… persistent.”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“In class,” his voice is calm but there is a hint of amusement in it. “Fifth year onward. Asked more questions than most. Top marks. Except for that one explosion.”

Your face went hot. “That wasn’t my fault. The instructions in the textbook were vague.”

He hummed lowly. “Or perhaps you were too eager to impress.”

You stared at him, flustered. “Potions was always my favorite subject. Even when you gave me detention for answering questions too quickly.”

His mouth twitched. “You were never just quick. You were thorough. Meticulous. Determined to prove yourself. The detention was for yelling the answer and not raising your hand.”

Your breath caught. “You noticed that?”

A pause. Then, very quietly: “I notice more than people think.”

For the first time, you were having an actual conversation with him. It felt strange. And strangely easy.

His eyes lingered. “You were always… precise. Focused.”

You swallowed, heart stumbling. “You were always terrifying.”

That got the faintest curve from his lips.

And just like that, something shifted.

You start talking. Not much—short exchanges after meetings about potions techniques, obscure ingredients, or the ridiculousness of certain assignments. But he listens. And replies. Sometimes with a sarcastic edge. Sometimes with real curiosity.

Once, you ask about a text on defensive elixirs. He recommends three others, more advanced, quotes the page numbers without blinking, and mutters, “Try not to incinerate anything this time. Though I assume the eagerness hasn’t worn off.”

You grin. “Only one cauldron ever died. And it died bravely.”

He almost smiles. Almost.

Sometimes, the conversations shift sideways. You end up snickering beside him when Sirius whines for the fifth meeting in a row about being left out of missions.

“I do wonder how he breathes between monologues,” Severus murmurs.

“Barely,” you reply, trying not to laugh into your cup.

He glances sideways at you. It’s not warm, but it’s no longer distant either.

It becomes a rhythm. Something constant. A pulse through the chaos. Every meeting. Every snide comment passed between you. Every book you pretend to casually bring up, just to hear him talk.

It’s not new. The crush—his voice, the way he moves, the way his mind works—you’ve carried all of that since you were fifteen. But now, it’s different. Sharper. He’s no longer a distant figure behind a desk. He’s someone real. Present. Willing to meet you halfway.

You’re not just starry-eyed anymore. You care about him—his silences, his scars, the exhaustion he hides under his sneers. You start noticing the quiet things—the tension in his shoulders before he speaks, the way his fingers twitch when he’s trying not to show he’s anxious, the fact that he never forgets what you’ve said, even in passing.

Every time he says your name, soft and precise like it’s part of a formula, something inside you twists. Because this time, it's not a crush.

It's love.

—

You just came home from a mission when you plopped down on the couch besides Tonks.

She is curled on the couch, hair dull and grey—not from effort, but from mood. She stares at the ceiling, voice flat.

"I told him. Remus. I told him how I felt."

You sit up straighter. "Wait—what? You actually told him? When?"

"Last night. After the meeting. Just... blurted it out. Like a bloody idiot."

"And what did he say?"

Her laugh is dry and bitter. "Said I was too young. That it wouldn’t be fair. That I deserved someone who wasn’t... him."

You blink. "But—Tonks, are you joking? He watches you. I’ve seen it. He listens when you speak. He always lights up a bit when you’re around—"

"Yeah," she cuts in, quietly. "I thought so too. But maybe I saw what I wanted to see. Or maybe he’s just scared of being happy."

Your heart twists. "Tonks... I’m so sorry."

She shrugs, fighting back tears. "I don’t regret telling him. But I feel like I set myself on fire and he just stood there watching. But I am not going to give up even if that makes me an Idiot."

You take her hand. "You're not an idiot. You're brave. I wish I could be that brave."

She gives a weak smile. "You need to confess to your disaster man as well."

"Tonks—"

"Nope. I mean it. Severus watches you the same way Remus watched me—except Snape is even worse at hiding it."

You shake your head. "He doesn’t feel that way. And even if he did, he wouldn’t say it."

"Then you say it," she says, fierce. "Be the one who jumps. Don’t wait like I did."

You stare at the fire.

Then nod.

The meeting that night is long. You barely hear a word of it. Your heart is pounding in your chest so loud you’re convinced someone will comment. You catch Severus glancing at you a few times—short, searching looks, like he’s noticed you’re not entirely present.

Tonks nudges your arm and murmurs, “Still on for after?”

You nod, throat dry. She squeezes your hand once under the table before drifting away to speak with Remus, who is lingering near the back of the room.

You watch them. Their heads are close together, voices soft. You can’t tell what’s being said, but Tonks is smiling—hopeful and nervous all at once.

Then you spot Severus slipping toward the hallway, cloak already gathered in one hand.

You stand. Fast.

“Severus—wait.”

He stops, slowly turning.

You inhale once, deep, and step toward him.

“I need to say something,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I swear, I’ve been trying to talk myself out of it for weeks, but here we are.”

Severus stands there, watching you with that unreadable look. Your heart thuds hard enough you’re afraid he can hear it.

“I like you,” you say, quieter now. “I mean I like you. I’ve liked you for a while. Well actually I liked you since fifth year but then I thought I stopped but I think I knew I didn't the second I saw you walk into that Order meeting. And then we started talking and—Merlin, it’s not some passing thing.”

You force yourself to meet his eyes. “You’re complicated and sharp and so much more than people ever see. And talking to you is the best part of my week, every time. So I thought maybe—if you wanted—maybe we could go for a nice romantic dinner...?”

Silence stretches.

He doesn’t move.

Then, finally, he speaks. “You shouldn’t want things like that from me.”

His voice is low, but not cruel. Just tired. Like he’s had this argument with himself already.

You swallow hard. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not made for that,” he says. "I am not the man to go for candlelight...It wouldn’t suit me. It never has.”

He hesitates, eyes flicking to yours something you can't quite place flashing in them but only for a second.

He turns before you can say anything else, footsteps retreating down the corridor without a backward glance, his cloak trailing like smoke behind him.

And your heart folds in on itself as you’re left standing there in a very quiet, very final way.

Tonks and You barricaded yourselves into the apartment the whole weekend after that, armed with chocolate frogs and more bottles dragon brandy than the two of you could drink.

"He’s a bloody idiot!" she says, plopping down beside you on the couch at some point after the third bottle.

"They both are."

You turn your head to look over at her grabbing the bottle and taking a swing before scrunching up your face at the burn. "Remus still pretending you don’t exist?"

"Like I’m contagious."

You hand her the bottle letting out a sigh. "At least Remus kind of gave an actual reason."

Tonks musters you for a moment after taking a sip from the bottle herself. Her eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed with brandy and frustration.

“They’re idiots,” she declares again, slamming the bottle down on the table. “Grade-A, Ministry-certified, emotionally-stunted idiots.”

You nod solemnly, sprawled sideways across the armrest. “Absolute morons. Should be banned from having faces that make us feel things.”

“Exactly!” she slurs. “You—brilliant, loyal, terrifying when angry—you confess and he runs like a blasted dementor’s on his heels. And me? I practically proposed to Remus with my eyes, and he just—‘too young,’ ‘not safe,’ blah blah, tragic werewolf poetry.”

You start laughing. It bubbles up out of you uncontrollably. Tonks joins in, snorting into a cushion.

Then her face goes serious. “We need a plan.”

You blink. “What kind of plan?”

“A scheme. A plot. Operation: Emotionally Inept Men Realize Their Own Damn Feelings.”

You giggle. “That acronym is awful.”

“I’m drunk. You fix it later,” she mumbles. “We need to make them jealous. Or nervous. Or confused. Just—something.”

You snort. “Like what? Send each other flowers in front of them?”

Tonks gasps. “YES. And then we act super casual. Like, ‘Oh, Remus, this bouquet? Just a little something from the hottest person I know—not you, obviously.’”

You wheeze into your sleeve. “And I’ll just be like, ‘Oh Severus, Tonks and I are trying this thing where we only date people who can actually say how they feel.’”

“We’ll crush their fragile egos.”

“We’ll be legends.”

Tonks raises the bottle. “To unhinged women and emotionally constipated men.”

You clink your glass to hers, grinning. “It’s our time to shine.” 

The both of you continue to drink until the alcohol takes it turn and you both fall sleep on the couch.

But life doesn’t bend to your drunk schemes and hopeful hearts.

The war escalates. Your missions grow bloodier. Darker. The laughter fades, and reality sharpens like a blade.

You and Tonks barely have time to breathe, let alone flirt. The Ministry's collapsing under the weight of fear and infiltration. Raids are more frequent. Casualties are no longer numbers—they're names you recognize.

The Order meetings grow tenser. No more teasing from across the table. No time for exchanged glances or shared smirks. Just tactics. Intel. Survival.

You didn't speak with Severus again after he left you standing in that hallway. He kept glancing over at you during meetings but he never tried to speak with you. It felt like you pressed your heart into his hand and he let it fall, untouched.

You pretend it doesn't hurt. But it does. So you throw yourself into missions. You find dark corners and dangerous paths.

The air is thick with dust and disuse, the floorboards groaning under your boots as you move through the narrow hallway of an abandoned house on the edge of the Wiltshire countryside. The mission had come straight from Moody—quiet, off the books, just you. A suspected Death Eater hideout, previously warded to hell, but recently showing signs of magical activity again.

You entered through a broken cellar door, wand raised, eyes scanning every shadow. Moody's briefing had been short:

check for signs of occupation, gather intel, and get out. If you could confirm who was using the place, even better.

The scent of burnt parchment and something fouler—blood, maybe—lingered in the air. You found remnants: a broken wand tip, a crumpled map of the Ministry’s upper levels, and a few strands of white-blond hair caught on a cracked mirror.

You were about to mark your findings and prepare to leave when you heard it.

Voices. Faint. Muffled. Two people—men, you think—talking in harsh whispers from a room at the end of the hall.

You edge closer, careful not to make a sound, wand held tightly at your side. The floorboards creak beneath you, but you move slowly, deliberately, step by cautious step, until you reach a slightly ajar door.

Inside, two cloaked figures stand near an old writing desk covered in parchment, open potion vials, and a magical map glowing faintly. One of them is holding a wand over the map, murmuring incantations. The other laughs under his breath and adjusts his hood.

Your heart pounds. You’re close enough to make out part of their plan—something about targeting a Ministry courier, something about tonight. You lean in, trying to get a better look, to see their faces, to hear more clearly.

Then—

CREEEAAK.

Your boot shifts ever so slightly on a warped plank.

The sound echoes like thunder in the tense silence.

Both men whip around toward the door, wands already raised.

“WHO’S THERE?!” one of them shouts.

The other spots you at the door, “Avada Kedavra!”

A flash of green light blasts through the narrow opening just as you dive backward, making it out of the way last second.

You scramble, raising your wand and firing back as you retreat, the doorway exploding in splinters behind you. The Death Eaters charge, spells slamming into the walls and floor. You fire a disarming spell—miss. A stunning charm—connects. One of them stumbles but recovers fast.

The corridor becomes a war zone. Shelves collapse. Dust blinds you. You roll over broken floorboards, casting Protego and ducking hexes.

You stagger into a corner and use the moment to hurl a curse that sends one Death Eater flying back into a crumbling dresser but the second one closes in, too fast, too brutal. He casts a slicing hex that tears through the wall inches from your face. 

You twist to cast, wand rising, a spell burning on your tongue— But the red light surges faster.

It slams into your side like a battering ram.

White-hot pain detonates through you, sharp and immediate, tearing through muscle and bone in one vicious, blazing line.

You land hard on your back, your wand flies from your grasp with a clutter and rolls out of reach. Your body is seizing and ribs flaring with fresh agony. Your lungs refuse to expand. You open your mouth—but no air, no sound. Just the thick, crushing pressure of pain locking you inside your own body.

Your vision blurs at the edges. Every heartbeat is a thunderclap behind your eyes.

You try to move—can’t. Try to breathe—fail.

And then footsteps. Closer. Fast.

You’re exposed, defenseless, flat on splintered wood, blinking up at the ceiling as it twists and swims above you.

A sharp crack of Apparition splits the air.

A shadow cuts through the smoke—swift, dark, deliberate.

Boots crunch over shattered glass and splintered wood as a tall figure strides into the chaos. His face is hidden beneath the edge of a hood, but you know him.

You’d know that presence anywhere.

Severus.

He moves without hesitation, stepping between you and the oncoming curses like a storm given form, his wand already raised. The air explodes with spellfire—green, blue, blood-red—and he counters each one with brutal efficiency. Every motion is sharp, practiced, lethal.

You can barely lift your head, but you watch him—how he doesn’t falter, how he doesn't look away. A shield erupts from his wand, catching a blast before it can reach you. The recoil ripples through the room, shaking dust from the beams above.

Then—with a harsh word and a flick of his wrist—he sends one Death Eater crashing into the wall hard enough to splinter the plaster.

The second barely has time to scream before a nonverbal curse lifts him off his feet and slams him against a broken dresser. He crumples to the floor, motionless.

Only when the room has gone silent again does Severus lower his wand.

He turns toward you.

And pulls down his hood.

You try to speak—his name, anything—but the pain anchors you in place.

“You absolute moron,” he snaps at you, voice taut. Then he’s there lifting you up with such a gentleness and care that you are sure you are dreaming. 

“Don’t even try to argue,” he mutters steadying his hold on you. You feel his hand under your back, the twist of Apparition.

Everything folds.

The house vanishes. The pain doesn’t.

The last thing you felt as you passed out is his heartbeat, loud and furious.

When you wake, you’re in a room at Grimmauld Place. The ceiling’s cracked. The sheets smell like dust.

Your chest aches. You blink slowly. Then you see him.

Sitting in a chair near the foot of the bed, coat discarded, shirt sleeves rolled up. There’s a faint streak of ash across his cheek.

He looks at you, jaw tight. “You’re an idiot.”

Your voice comes out croaky. “You have a terrible bedside manner.”

He stands, crossing to your side. Without a word, he begins applying a cooling salve to your ribs, his touch gentler than you expect.

“If you die,” he mutters, “Moody will be buried in paperwork explaining why a promising Auror died on an off-the-books mission and be even worse than he already is.”

You smile weakly. “So you came to save the parchment.”

He doesn’t answer.

But his hand lingers when he finishes wrapping your side. Just a moment. A pause heavy with everything unsaid.

Then he lets go.

"You should have went in took notes and left. Not go full on hero complex and investigate all on your own," he scolds, not bothering to hide the sharp edge in his tone.

You blink slowly, trying to gather your breath. “How did you even find me?”

“I noticed you weren’t at the meeting.” His voice is clipped, his movements precise as he checks the bandages at your side. “I asked Tonks where you’d gone. She told me about the mission.”

You stare at him, still dazed. “So... you left the meeting? Just to come find me?”

He straightens up but doesn’t meet your eyes. “That particular location has been on my radar. It was used previously by known associates of Mulciber. It wasn’t a matter of coincidence.”

You study him. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

His jaw tightens. “You always were too eager to impress. Someone had to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed because of that recklessness.”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can press further, he steps back. “You should rest. You’ll need strength for the inevitable lecture from Moody.”

And just like that, he turns to leave, the tension in his shoulders betraying everything he couldn’t say.

"Wait," you croak, voice still hoarse but strong enough to stop him in his tracks.

He pauses at the door, head tilting slightly.

“I still feel the same,” you say, trying not to wince. “Even if you don’t like me. And I know that maybe I shouldn’t say this after you already clearly rejected me but it’s true.”

Severus turns back slowly. There’s a strange look on his face—confusion, maybe. Something softer than before.

“I didn't rejected you,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

He takes a few steps closer. “That night, when you asked me. I didn’t reject you. I said you shouldn’t want that from me. I said I wasn’t the type to do candlelight dinners.”

You stare, heart hammering. “Which… sounded a lot like a rejection?”

He moves a little closer now, arms folded—not in his usual defensive way, but like he’s holding himself still.

“I said I’m not made for candlelight dinners because I’m not,” he continues. “I meant I wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of romance. Not that I didn’t want… you.”

You stare at him. “Then why did you just walk away?”

He scowls, and not at you. “I didn't...I told you the night before the meeting that I had to leave right after because I was summoned for another meeting and couldn’t stay to talk. I barely had time to get out and show up there without them getting suspicious.”

You feel your cheeks flush hot.

„I forgot…“

Your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting.

“I thought you understood what I meant and left,” he says, voice quieter now. “But you never brought it up again. And I assumed you…simply didn't want it anymore. So I stayed away.”

Your mind is reeling, trying to make sense of everything he’s just said.

“I didn’t bring it up again because I thought you told me that you do not want to go on a date with me,” you say, incredulous. “I thought I embarrassed myself.”

“You didn’t,” he says tightly. His voice is almost amused as he looks at you. “You didn’t embarrass yourself. I was quite flattered.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest. You reach out—tentative, careful—and take his hand. And for the first time, he lets his fingers curl around yours.

You look at him, heart thudding again—but differently now. “So... what now?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Please anything but candlelight dinners.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You—you are infuriating.”

“I’m aware.”

„Okay so no candlelight got it.“ You grin despite yourself.

“I do like you rather a lot and would love to spend more time with you if that's what you still want.”

Your smile softens. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He looks at your intervened hands before gently lifting them and pressing a featherlight kiss to the back of yours. The two of you stay like that a little more in silence just enjoying the presence of each other.

And this time, when he turns to go, he pauses at the door— to glance back, eyes lingering just a second longer.

You’re still sitting up in bed when the door bursts open without warning.

Tonks stands in the doorway, wide-eyed and breathless, hair a disheveled mix of pink and brown like she forgot to decide what mood to be in.

“Oh thank Merlin,” she says, exhaling hard. “You’re awake.”

She rushes forward and throws her arms around you before you can say anything. It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s Tonks—tight and warm and a little shaky.

“You absolute idiot,” she mumbles into your shoulder. “I was two seconds from hexing Moody for sending you out alone after I heard Snape brought you here hurt and passed out.”

“I’m fine,” you croak, but you hug her back just as tight.

“You’re not,” she says, pulling away just enough to glare at you. “You scared the shit out of me. Again. We had a deal. No solo heroic missions.”

You give a weak laugh. “Didn’t feel very heroic, getting hexed like that.”

Her eyes scan your face, softening slightly. “He got there in time, though that's all that matters.”

You nod, biting your lip.

“I knew he would.” She sits on the edge of the bed, legs bouncing. "The way he ran out the way he did after I told him where you had your mission. He just went quiet and ran. No questions. Just—gone.”

Your heart thuds at that.

“He looked ready to tear the place apart,” Tonks adds, voice dropping slightly. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

You sit in silence for a beat, the memory of his wand raised between you and those curses still vivid.

Then Tonks squints at you, eyes narrowing. “You don't seem surprised by that and you're blushing. Why are you...Something happened, didn’t it!?”

You open your mouth. Close it.

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

You sigh, looking at the blanket folded across your lap. “I stopped him before he left. After he patched me up.”

Tonks leans in, rapt. “And?”

“I told him I still felt the same. About him. Even after everything.”

Her eyes widen. “You didn’t.”

“I did. He was halfway out the door and I just blurted it out.”

She grabs your hands. “What did he say?”

“He turned around. Looked at me like I was the one who’d been Confunded. Then said—he never rejected me.”

Tonks freezes. “What?!”

“I said the same thing!”

You start to laugh, almost delirious from it. “I reminded him of what he told me—the bit about how I shouldn't want that from him, and how he doesn’t do candlelight dinners…”

“And?”

“He said he only meant he’s not that kind of man. Not the kind of man who knows how do that kind of romance. That he didn’t say no. He thought I changed my mind when I didn’t bring it up again.”

Tonks lets out a sound that’s part shriek, part groan, and shoves her hands into her hair. “I knew he liked you! The way he looked at you during meetings? The way he listened when only you spoke up? That wasn’t indifference. That was Severus Snape trying not to combust on the spot.”

You shake your head, smiling. “He said he likes me a lot and would love to spend time with me.”

Tonks practically vibrates in place. “It means you’re dating Snape! You’re dating Severus Snape and I’m going to explode.”

“You are not telling anyone.”

“I am absolutely telling Remus.”

You laugh, then wince at the ache in your ribs.

Tonks sobers just a little, reaching for your hand again. “He really came for you. Without hesitation. You know that, right?”

You nod, eyes burning a little. “I know.”

“And I’m glad. Even if he is the most emotionally damaged man in Britain.”

You squeeze her fingers. “Takes one to fall for one, apparently.”

She lets out a long sigh, collapsing backward onto the bed. “I swear, if Remus doesn’t get his head out of his arse soon too, I’m going to challenge him to a duel and make him lose on purpose.”

You snort. “He’d probably thank you for it.”

Tonks looks at the ceiling, hair bleeding pink again. “You and me. Falling for the most exhausting men alive.”

“At least they’re consistent.”

She smiles sideways at you. “We’re going to be fine, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ve got each other. And you finally got your grumpy potions bat and I will eventually get piece of that sad werewolf.”

You grin. “Cheers to that.”

Tonks reaches for a half-melted chocolate frog on the bedside table and raises it like a toast. “To the worst taste in men and the best possible endings.”

You clink your teacup to it. “Here’s hoping.”

And the moment settles between you—quiet, loyal, real. Just two girls in a war, holding each other up and daring to hope for something good.

—

Remus sat in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, legs folded beneath him in one of the battered armchairs, a book resting in his lap. The fire crackled lazily, casting warm shadows against the cracked wallpaper and dust-choked bookshelves. He was half-reading, half-listening to the muffled sounds of Molly in the kitchen and the low groan of the old house settling.

The quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps—measured, unhurried, precise.

Remus glanced up, ready to offer the same cautious nod they always exchanged.

But something stopped him.

Severus, of all people, looked... different.

Not unrecognizable. Not exactly relaxed. But there was a distinct shift in him—like he was carrying less weight across his shoulders than usual. His usual scowl was subdued. His mouth not pressed into it's habitual sneer.

There was a stillness about him that wasn’t edged with bitterness for once.

He looked content.

Remus blinked.

Severus, of course, noticed.

He paused at the threshold of the room, eyes narrowing faintly. “What?” he said flatly.

Remus tilted his head. “Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“You looked... less miserable than usual,” Remus said mildly. “I was trying to figure out what caused it.”

Severus walked to the edge of the fireplace and leaned a shoulder against the wall, arms folding over his chest.

“I suppose I could ask the same of you on the days your hair isn't a mess.”

Remus chuckled. “Touché.”

A pause stretched between them. Crackling wood. Pages shifting.

Then, without looking up, Remus spoke again. “I heard what happened. With the mission. It's because of your fast reaction that we do not have to bury (Y/N)”

Severus’s expression didn’t shift, but something behind his eyes flickered.

“Tonks told me something interesting,” Remus continued, “that you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with (Y/N).”

Severus’s lip twitched faintly. “You’ve been gossiping, Lupin?”

“She likes to tell me. It’s hard not to listen when she talks.”

"Apparently.”

Remus looked at him fully now. “You like her.”

Severus didn’t flinch. “Yes and she likes me.”

There was a long pause as Remus processed that. "So...Have you figured out what you are going to do about it?"

"There is no figuring out," Severus added dryly, “We are dating.”

Remus blinked again, still stunned. “But...things as they are—this war, the risks—and she’s younger—”

Severus turned his head, very slowly, and fixed him with a look so flat and unimpressed that Remus actually winced.

“I see,” Remus muttered. “None of my business.”

“No,” Severus said. “It’s not.”

Still, he didn’t look away. His voice lowered, tone quieter, more serious. “But I’ll say this once.”

Remus looked up.

“It would be idiotic to reject someone who cares for me like that especially in times like these,” Severus said evenly. “Someone who sees every part of me and still bothers. Who still wants to bother. That doesn’t happen twice.”

Remus stared at him, unmoving.

Severus went on, voice calm but sure. “She knows what she wants. And she’s more than capable of choosing for herself. Who am I to push that away, for the sake of appearances or pride?”

Remus’s jaw clenched faintly.

Severus didn’t smile. But there was a finality in his gaze, a grounded certainty.

“I’m not a fool,” he said. “I may be many things. But I know what matters when it’s standing in front of me. And I will not waste the little time I might have left, wondering on what it would have been like if I can spend it with her and know.”

With that, he pushed off the wall and turned to leave, robes brushing the doorframe as he disappeared into the hallway.

Remus sat still for a long time, the fire crackling behind him.

Dinner at Grimmauld Place that evening is louder than usual.

Molly has outdone herself again—roast lamb, buttered veggies, fresh rolls, and enough potatoes to bury a man alive. She’s fluttering around you with the urgency of someone who’s decided your brush with death was a personal insult to her kitchen.

“Another helping, dear?” she says for the third time in as many minutes, already scooping more onto your plate before you can answer.

“I—really, I’m good—”

“You need to rebuild your strength,” Molly insists, ignoring your protests entirely.

Tonks, seated across from you, is no help at all. She’s already giggling behind her pumpkin juice, watching the scene like it's the best show she’s seen in weeks.

“She’s going to roll you back to the flat at this rate,” Tonks teases. “Merlin forbid you miss a meal. You’d have to survive on… what do you even keep in our pantry? Seven varieties of tea and a questionable jar of pickled something?”

“I like variety,” you grumble, nudging your mashed potatoes half-heartedly.

Severus sits beside you, unusually quiet but very much present. He hasn’t spoken since the meal began, just calmly observing the chaos of the kitchen, his posture composed, his expression unreadable.

Until your arm tenses.

It’s just a small motion—lifting your fork with your still-sore side—but the moment you reach too high, pain flashes across your face and you wince, hand faltering.

The moment is so small, so quiet, it might’ve gone unnoticed.

But before anyone else can react—before even you fully register it—Severus sets down his own fork, reaches calmly across, and takes yours from your fingers.

No words.

Just steady hands, practiced grace, and a flick of his wrist as he spears a piece of roast lamb and holds the fork out to you.

The entire table freezes.

Molly stops mid-pour with the gravy boat. Arthur’s eyebrows climb his forehead. Remus pauses with a roll halfway to his mouth, blinking like someone just flipped the room upside down. Sirius chokes on his Mulbery Wine so violently that Molly has to slap his back.

Tonks, meanwhile, looks like someone just handed her the keys to Honeydukes. Her grin is feral, gleeful, and practically glowing. Her eyes flick between you and Severus like she’s already scripting the ballad she’s going to write about this moment.

You don’t even notice.

You just beam, completely unbothered by the stunned silence, and lean forward to take the offered bite without hesitation.

“Mmm,” you hum. “Thank you.”

Severus doesn’t smile, but there’s something there—a twitch of his mouth, the softest exhale through his nose. His hand lowers back to your plate, calm and precise as ever, already gathering another bite like this is simply the most logical way to deal with a sore arm and not the social equivalent of dropping a bomb in the center of the Order dinner.

You take another bite from Severus’s hand, still grinning, completely unaware of how stunned the rest of the table is—until Sirius opens his mouth.

“Alright,” he says loudly, setting down his fork with an exaggerated clatter. “What the bloody hell is that all about?”

Tonks immediately glares at him, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t start.”

Even Remus, usually the peacekeeper, glances at Sirius with a hint of disapproval. “Not the time, Sirius.”

But of course, Sirius barrels forward like a broom with no brakes.

“I mean, come on,” he says, gesturing broadly toward you and Severus. “Snivellus hand-feeding (Y/N) at the dinner table? This is weird, right? This is weird for everyone?”

Tonks opens her mouth, clearly about to explode.

But Severus speaks first.

Calm. Bored. Unbothered.

“I’m feeding my woman because she is in pain,” he says. „Not that you understand. You've never tended to anything that didn't stroke your ego.“

Flat. Dry. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Silence.

Absolute, floor-dropping silence.

You, still mid-bite, blink in surprise. Your heart skips an entirely unsafe number of beats.

Molly stares, eyes wide. Then—slowly—a small, knowing smile pulls at her mouth. She glances at Arthur, who lifts his eyebrows but smiles back with an approving nod.

Tonks actually squeaks.

It’s small, barely a sound, but her whole face lights up and her hands slap over her mouth like she’s trying not to scream into them.

Sirius stares.

It’s the kind of stare that says he’s been hit with a Stunning Spell mid-chew. His mouth is open. But no sound comes out. He’s blinking at Severus like he’s trying to read an instruction manual in another language.

You nudge Severus gently with your elbow, your voice low. “That was…not subtle.”

“I don’t do subtle,” he says without looking at you.

You laugh under your breath and pick up your cup with your good arm, hiding your smile behind it.

Severus, meanwhile, continues eating his own dinner like he didn’t just casually claim you in front of half the Order.

Remus says nothing—but he’s watching.

You notice the way his eyes shift toward Tonk as she glows and fidgets and looks like she might combust with happiness. There’s something in his expression—pain, maybe. Or longing. Regret, even.

“Well,” Tonks says, trying and failing to sound casual, “I’d say that clears up a few things.”

Dinner resumes—sort of.

The food disappears from plates, the conversations return in hushed tones and sideways glances, but something has shifted. The air feels lighter. Not so sharp. And even if half the table is pretending they didn’t just witness that moment, the other half is definitely planning to tell someone else about it later.

And you?

You just let Severus brush his fingers lightly against yours beneath the table. Quiet. Steady. Real.

The house settles into quiet as the dishes are cleared, conversations fade, and the others retreat upstairs or into separate corners of Grimmauld Place. You manage to make it down the corridor on your own, stiff but mobile, with Tonks promising

“I will be back later, a certain emotionally terrified werewolf wants to talk to me urgently about something apparently.”

You find Severus upstairs, half-hidden in the shadowed end of the corridor by the old study door, arms crossed like he’s trying not to pace. He looks up when you approach, expression unreadable but his eyes soften when you approach him.

You don’t say anything at first.

You just step into his space—closer than you would’ve dared even days ago.

He doesn’t move away.

“Are you in pain?”

“A little,” you admit. “But it’s manageable.”

He nods once. “You should still be resting.”

You glance up at him, suddenly very aware of everything still unsaid. Of how different things feel now. You fiddle with the sleeve of your jumper.

„You know," you speak softly „For someone who claims that they are not the type for candlelight dinners you do know how to make a moment romantic.“

That earns you the faintest huff. Not quite a laugh. But close. “Should I have waited and made a formal announcement?”

You fold your arms, the ache in your side a dull throb. “Sirius nearly chocked and looked like he aged five years on the spot.”

A flicker of smug satisfaction crosses his face. “That part I did enjoy.”

That makes you huff a laugh before you can stop yourself. You stare at him for a moment, heart doing something uneven in your chest. 

“You meant it?” you ask finally.

He lifts a brow. “You think I do things like that to amuse myself?”

A soft breath leaves you—not quite a laugh, but something close. “You know, you caused a small riot?“

“I’m aware.” His expression is unreadable again as he looks at you.

You hesitate. Then: “You called me your woman.”

“Was I wrong?” He meets your eyes. 

You open your mouth. Close it.

There’s silence for a moment, but it isn’t awkward. It’s full—settled. Something has shifted and neither of you is pretending otherwise.

“I didn’t plan to say it,” he admits, voice quiet. “It came out.”

You stare at him. “Do you regret it?”

He shakes his head once. “No.”

You search his face. There’s tension there, yes, but also clarity. He’s not performing. He’s not trying to convince you. He’s just telling you the truth.

“You know,” You step closer. „I saw Remus look at Tonks after you said it.“

Severus tilts his head slightly. “And?”

“And it made me think… maybe what you said, did more than just surprise a room full of people.”

You smile—shy, warm, and completely real.

And then you lean in, slowly, your hand finding his cheek.

He doesn’t move—not at first. Just watches you like he’s still making sure this is real. Like he’s memorizing every second of it.

But when your lips meet his, it’s not rushed or hesitant. It’s warm and sure, a little uneven at first—because it’s new, and it means something. His hand rises to your waist, not possessive, just there. Grounding you.

He kisses you like it’s something he never expected to have—but won’t let himself fear anymore. Careful, but wanting. His fingers slide along your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go too soon.

When you pull back, he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

“Come on,” you whisper. “We should go back before Tonks tries to sneaks up here and catches us.”

“She’s already watching from the stairs,” Severus murmurs dryly.

You spin. “What?!”

But there’s no one there. He smirks.

You groan. “You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he says, letting his hand trail to your lower back and pulling you against him. “And yet, here you are.”

He slowly leans down and presses another kiss to your lips.

Neither of you think to stop but when you do pull back, just a little, your forehead rests against his.

The air between you stays charged—gentle, electric.

You whisper, “I guess this is much better than a candlelight dinner.”

He exhales a quiet laugh against your cheek. “This is much more...enjoyable.”

You smile, lips brushing his again—just because you can now.

By the time you and Severus return to the main sitting room, the fire’s been rekindled and most of the Order has either gone to bed or wandered off. But the few who remain—well, they paint quite the picture.

Tonks is curled up on the couch, tucked against Remus’s side. His arm is slung around her shoulders like it belongs there, and her head rests just beneath his jaw, her pink hair brushing his collar while her legs are draped over his lap.

She’s beaming. Glowing, really.

Remus looks half-relaxed, half like he’s still recovering from letting himself finally give in.

And then there’s Sirius.

Sulking.

He’s folded into one of the old armchairs like it personally betrayed him, arms crossed so tightly across his chest it’s a miracle he’s still breathing. He’s scowling across the room—specifically at Remus and Tonks—with the fury of someone who just found out his favorite pub closed down for good.

The moment you and Severus step into view, Sirius’s eyes dart toward you both, his expression contorting further into something between deeply betrayed and vaguely nauseous.

You don’t miss the way Tonks catches your eye across the room and grins like a smug cat. You grin right back.

She mouths, he is mine now.

You mouth back, I can see.

You turn to look at Severus over your shoulder. He gently places his hand on your lower back and presses a quick kiss to your lips before guiding you over to the free armchair. He sits down and pulls you onto his lap if it was the most normal thing to do.

Sirius groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, this is unbearable.”

No one acknowledges him.

He huffs louder, throwing his arms up. “First, it’s Snape feeding her like it’s some tragic romance novel, now Remus is cuddled up like a bloody pillow—what is this? The common room of poor decisions?”

Remus raises an eyebrow but doesn’t even blink. Tonks snuggles in closer, visibly delighted.

Sirius keeps going, gesturing wildly. “It was bad enough having to accepting those two—” he points at you and Severus, “—will be snogging in doorways and making heart eyes over dinner—”

“We are not—!” you start, but Tonks bursts out laughing.

“—and now this?” Sirius growls. “Now I have to watch my best mate fall for my pink-haired menace of a cousin who brews exploding tea and crashes into tables on the regular?”

Without a beat. No cue. No hesitation.

Everyone in the room—Tonks, Remus, you, and even Severus, flatly—says at once:

“Shut up, Sirius.”

Sirius blinks like he’s been smacked with a rolled-up Prophet.

The fire crackles.

Tonks lifts her mug in a mock toast. “To love, chaos, and Sirius suffering.”

Remus looks smug and entirely too comfortable where he is.

Sirius scowls deeper, muttering something about needing stronger firewhisky and better friends.

You rest your head on Severus's shoulder, who doesn’t say anything, but his arm comes around your waist, holding you closer.

And for the first time in what feels like months, the room—despite the war, despite the madness—feels full of something warmer than tension.

It feels like peace.

—

Months later, the war rages on.

The sky seems permanently gray these days. Grimmauld Place is colder. The halls quieter. People speak in hushed tones now—not just from caution, but fatigue.

But not everything is bleak.

Because even in the cracks of this crumbling world, you’ve found moments that feel…safe.

Your relationship with Severus is unlike anything you imagined.

It’s quieter than you thought it would be—not loud declarations but small things. Constant things.

He always makes sure you have tea after a mission, mixed with healing potions, even if it’s more bitter he insists it’s “medicinal.” You bring him books he pretends not to need and lay with your head in his lap in silence while he reads, just being near each other.

He lets you lean against him after long meetings, his arm a constant, grounding weight around your shoulders. He strokes your hair gently until you fall asleep next to him.

You argue, of course. He can be sharp, cold, too used to pushing people away when they get too close. But he always comes back. Always shows up in the morning, coffee in hand, like it’s his way of saying he’s still here.

You love him for it.

And even though he rarely says the words, you never doubt them. Because when you’re bleeding, he’s there before the blood dries. Because when you’re gone too long, he paces the halls and snaps at everyone until you’re in his arms again. Because when everything seems to fall apart around him, you are the only place he truly let’s himself fall apart.

Because his love is not loud.

It’s constant.

That afternoon, you and Tonks find yourselves at your flat for once—no assignments, no alarms. Just a rare moment of stillness, wrapped in mismatched blankets and oversized sweaters, sipping tea.

Tonks stretches across the couch like she owns it, which she technically half does. Her hair is soft today, a dusky pink that fades toward her shoulders.

In the kitchen Remus is quietly preparing food while Severus is filling up the cabinets with actual food.

You and Tonks watch it unfold from your positions.

She grins over her mug. “Remus made me tea this morning. Loose leaves. Honey. He even brought it to bed.”

You raise your brows. “That’s scandalously domestic.”

“I know,” she sighs dramatically rubbing her swollen bump. “He’s ruined me. I’ll never settle for anyone who uses teabags again.”

You chuckle, swirling your own mug. “Severus made me take a Pepper-Up Potion after I sneezed once. Called me ‘reckless’ for standing too near a draft. He wouldn’t stop glaring at me until I had drunken it”

Tonks bursts out laughing. “That man shows love like a hostile letter.”

You smirk. “He also charmed the door to alert him if I leave without my wand. Don’t tell him, but I think it’s sweet.”

She raises her mug in salute. “That’s basically marriage.”

You clink mugs, leaning into each other with soft, tired laughter.

There’s a silence afterward—comfortable, layered with memory.

You stare at the two men in your kitchen. “Do you remember what we were like this time last year?”

She groans. “Pathetic.”

“We used to get drunk and cry about how they’d never notice us.”

Tonks puts her hand to her heart. “And now mine makes me soup when I have cramps.”

You grin. “Mine lectures me about sleep and then lets me drool on his shoulder.”

She eyes you sideways. “He told Sirius to shut up the other day just because you sighed.”

“He did not.”

“He did. He’s obsessed with you.”

Your cheeks heat, but you try to play it cool. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s true. He loves you.”

You go quiet. Not because you doubt it—but because it still feels fragile sometimes, like something you’re afraid to jinx.

But then you think of the kisses and touches you had shared, how he is holding your hand like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You smile.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “He does.”

Tonks leans her head on your shoulder. “We really pulled it off, didn’t we?”

You grin. “We made emotionally repressed men fall in love with us. That’s basically winning the war.”

You sit like that for a long time—warm tea, shared silence, the world outside be damned.

While the two men you loved silently moved around the kitchen like it was their own.

Because blind spots don’t last forever.

Not when love keeps tapping you on the shoulder.

[ghostedgwen]

inside her fantasy | s.black

notes : so, finally a very long 8.6k words fic for Sirius. I had scrapped this many many times, changed plots like 4 times and even tried to just eat my keyboard while writing this but FINALLY I finished!! Thank u for 900 followers, ily all!!! somuch!!!!!

warnings : reader has an ancient blood curse with no cure, based on sleeping beauty- loosely, LOTS and LOTS of angst, the first wizarding war plot line, character death(s), mention of war and grief and loss, marauders angst (yk the rest)

Sirius Black never thought he would ever stop playing and offer his heart to someone else until he met her, but how does a man out of time keep a girl awake and within his reach? In which a girl is cursed to fall asleep, never to wake, and Sirius is hopelessly in love with her.

. . . Trends change, rumors fly through new skies but I'm right where you left me.

It starts with a dare, like all good stories involving the Marauders do.

You swap a fellow Hufflepuff's pumpkin juice for firewhisky before breakfast, right under the nose of three Prefects and a hovering ghost. You flash your friends a triumphant grin, and the moment the poor bloke takes a gulp and splutters across the table, you let out a laugh that makes heads turn.

One of those heads belongs to Sirius Black.

He doesn't laugh like everyone else. No, he watches for a moment, assessing, then leans over to James with a smirk. "Think we got ourselves another pranskter."

You catch it. Of course you do. You raise an eyebrow across the table and say, loud enough for him to hear, "You say that like you own the rights for pranks, Black."

James snorts. Sirius pretends to be wounded. "And here I was, thinking I was being complimentary."

"Don’t strain yourself," you say. "You might pull a muscle patting yourself on the back."

Something flickers behind his eyes. Interest, maybe. Or the thrill of not being immediately adored - he was too deep in his and his friends' adventures to truly notice everyone else. Specially that you wore a yellow robe, too forgetable for him.

James grabs his arm. "We’ve got practice, mate. Come on."

He stands, but he throws one last glance over his shoulder before he leaves. Right at you, you give him a mocking wave and you get a shit-eating grin in return.

You were caught sneaking back in from the Owlery.

He was caught hexing Filch’s office door so it screamed every time someone knocked.

Now you’re side by side, polishing trophies that haven't seen the light of day since 1903. Your fingers are smudged with Brasso. The room smells like lemon and resentment and old.

"So," he says, halfway through a plaque commemorating a Gobstones champion, "what’s your best detention story?"

You grin. "I once convinced McGonagall that Peeves framed me. Drew a whole diagram and everything."

Sirius lets out a laugh that bounces off the marble. "That’s impressive. I usually just take the blame and try to look roguish while doing it."

"That explains the ego," you reply, smirking.

He narrows his eyes, mock offended. "You’re not as clever as you think you are."

You pause, toss him a sideways glance. "And you’re not as clever as you think you are."

There’s a beat.

Then he grins. Wide and wolfish. "Then I’ll have to try harder, won’t I?"

And just like that, the dynamic begins.

The pumpkins explode in perfect sequence: one after the other, like a line of golden-orange fireworks down the centre of the Great Hall.

Everyone cheers. The Marauders look vaguely shocked, for once caught off guard by a grand prank -

Because the original plan wasn't supposed to work that well. And definitely not with the added effect of floating bats that shriek "Boo!" in different languages.

You had overheard their plotting. Tweaked a few spell matrices. Subtle improvements. You're not a glory-hog, but thought to add your own flair.

Sirius corners you near the staircase hours later, after the chaos has started to die down - he looked like he had been hunting you since it all went off.

"You meddled."

You feign innocence. "I improved. There’s a difference."

"You should join us."

You raise your brow. "I work alone."

Nevermind the fact you just tinkered with their pranks, you decided against joining their little band of Marauders as you didn't fancy being the only girl in their little boys group.

You'd rather do your own thing.

Moments later, Filch comes stomping down the corridor, waving a list of suspects. You grab Sirius's hand without thinking.

"Hide."

He doesn’t question it. He lets you drag him to the small, tight place between walls where a statue was located, you squeezed yourselves behind it.

He whispers, "You really are a menace."

"Takes one to know one, Black."

Your breath fogs in the silence. His eyes catch yours. For a moment, the world shrinks. Just the sound of your heartbeat and the feel of his coat brushing your arm.

He doesn’t kiss you.

But he wants to.

He asks you like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke, and perhaps it was. He had insisted so, justifying it in his head.

"Fancy a trip to Hogsmeade? I hear Honeydukes has a new licorice wand."

You smirk. "Only if you’re paying. And I want a scone. With clotted cream."

He blinks, not expecting you to say yes. He half-expected you to make fun of him for it or perhaps hex him at his audacity.

He broke into a grin at that, unbelievably successful. "Done."

You go. It’s cold and overcast and perfect. Sirius has managed to shrug James off who whined non-stop about being left alone for yet another date.

James Potter ever the brat was complaining that, "Mates before dates!" but Sirius left him.

You tease each other the whole way there, and the whole way back.

Inside the tea shop, he stares at the way you scrape the jam across your plate and says, "You’re not like anyone else, you know."

You tilt your head. "That sounds suspiciously like a line - am I supposed to swoon now?"

He sighs, knowing you'd respond with a bite like always. He leans back. "It’s not. I just meant - "

"I’m not interested in being Sirius Black’s next conquest," you interrupt, quiet but firm.

For once, he has no retort.

For once, something cracks in his expression. Just for a second, that you barely caught it.

Then he masks it with a grin. "I’d never break your heart."

You don’t believe him. But you wish you could.

The tower is asleep - but as always, one Gryffindor is out of bed.

Sirius sits on the edge of his bed, candle flickering low beside him. His parchment is blotchy with crossed-out lines.

He thought about practising it first, writing down his thoughts and feelings and words he dared not say on parchment before he blurts them out to you.

In fear that he'd say it wrong - or you wouldn't take it too well. He resorted to writing his feelings down, it made him feel almost embarrassed. Almost.

I don’t know why I keep thinking about you.

Maybe it’s because you don’t make it easy.

Maybe it’s because when I’m around you, I’m not just ‘Sirius Black’ - I’m something I don’t hate.

He finishes the letter at that after many revisions, numerous lines crossed out and ink droplets staining the edges of the texts. He stares at it, blinks once -

Then he folded it, tucked into the bottom of his trunk. Probably not to be seen ever again by any other soul, specially not the person it was written for.

He went to bed with a heavy weight on his chest.

Your friends surprise you with a pile of sweets and a stack of cards. Someone charms the banner to say Happy Birthday, You Absolute Legend. There’s music, and dancing, and laughter that lights up the whole room.

You were against them throwing a whole party but they insisted. Your dormmates had birthdays outside of school, right during holidays and summer breaks so they insisted on celebrating yours.

You couldn't dodge out of it any longer and it soon turned into a big thing with other people from the other houses piling into your common room, all invited, to celebrate your coming-of-age.

Sirius gives you a wrapped package the size of a wand. Inside is a quill - you eye it with distrust as it couldn't be that simple with him.

"What does it do?" you ask, raising a brow with a coy grin.

He smirks. "Try it."

You scribble your name across a napkin. The quill shimmers, then begins writing compliments beneath it: Wittiest girl in the castle. Eyes like midnight mischief. Dangerous in the best way.

You laugh so hard at the words that you felt tears in your eyes.

During the festivites, you decided you have had enough and snuck out so effortlessly, you climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

Sirius follows, wordlessly, you didn't even mind him following you in there. Much too happy by everything that had happened to feel anything but pure happiness.

The stars are out, constellations drawn out to scatter across the night sky. You can feel the cold wind brushing past you, but you’re warm.

Must've been the Firewhiskey.

He stands beside you, watching how the moon illuminated your face. How the white light cast an almost blue hue across your features, like you were a painting come to life.

He leans in, despite himseld and you immediately caught it. Pressing a hand to his chest to stop him, your palms staying flat against his jacket. You give him a small smile.

"Not yet," you whisper.

He doesn’t push, he just slowly nods, accepting the rejection.

"Seventeen feels. . . big," you say, eyes on the sky, turning away from him before you could reject pushing him away before he could even close the distance.

"You’ve got time," he tells you.

You smile, soft. Sad, somehow.

"I know."

The library was unusually silent for a Thursday evening. You knew that most students had already left to their common rooms or gone to dinner, escaping the biting chill that had settled over the castle.

Even the ghosts, those eternal spirits who haunted the halls, seemed to have retreated into their own restless slumber, leaving the space in a fragile, almost sacred silence. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the shadows, their dark wood and brass fittings gleaming faintly in the low glow of the lanterns, like silent sentinels guarding ancient secrets.

You sat curled in one of the oversized armchairs near the far window, your legs tucked beneath you, a pile of books and loose parchment spread across your lap.

Your ink-stained fingers moved furiously, scribbling notes, ideas, or perhaps just trying to clear your mind. Your quill tapped rhythmically against your lips as you thought, lost in the world of your own making, unaware of anyone else’s presence.

The truth was, you weren’t supposed to be here. You hated the library on principle - so quiet, so organized, so full of reminders of work you’d rather avoid. But tonight, it was a refuge of sorts, a quiet space where you could escape the chaos of school and the pressure of exams.

Besides, you liked the solitude. It was easier to think when no one was around.

Until you felt that familiar, restless energy stir within you.

You weren’t sure what it was exactly - maybe boredom, maybe the need for distraction. Maybe a desire to defy the dull routine of school life. Whatever it was, it made you glance around and contemplate your options. Perhaps a little mischief. A quick prank to liven things up.

You shifted slightly in the chair, lifting your quill and preparing to scribble a note to yourself or perhaps an amused doodle. That’s when you noticed him.

Sirius Black.

He was leaning casually against one of the bookshelves, his dark hair falling into his eyes, a crooked grin curling on his lips. His eyes flicked over you with a teasing glint, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. You tried to ignore him, but you knew better.

He sauntered over, boots silent on the stone floor, a devilish smirk on his face. You could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, the way he always looked at you when he was about to do something he knew you’d hate.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice low and amused. "What do we have here? A little angel hiding in the library after hours?"

You rolled your eyes, pretending to ignore him. "Not your concern, Black."

He chuckled softly, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. "Come on, don’t be like that. I thought we were friends."

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at your lips. Sirius always knew how to push your buttons - in the worst and best ways.

He reached out, fingertips grazing the spine of a dusty, leather-bound tome on the table next to your chair. His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Thinking of a little prank, are we?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your grin. "Not this time, Black."

He leaned closer, voice lowering to a whisper. "Come on, I know you’re dying for some trouble. Just one little thing."

You hesitated. You knew he was right - your usual impulse was to stir up chaos, to shake things up. But tonight, you felt something different. A flicker of unease, maybe. Something about the way you were feeling - restless, distracted, almost jittery - made you pause.

Sirius, however, was relentless.

He reached for the nearest book on the table - an enormous, dusty volume - and grinned wider. "How about I give this a little shove? Bet it’d make a hell of a noise."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re hopeless."

He chuckled again. "You’re just afraid I’ll beat you to it."

You shook your head, trying to focus on your work again. But then, something caught your eye. You felt it before you saw it: the strange stillness in your body, the way your fingers suddenly refused to move, the sensation that your mind had gone quiet, almost as if you’d fallen into a trance.

You didn’t realize until a moment later that you’d gone completely still, your eyes fixed on a point far away.

Suddenly, Sirius’s voice broke through your concentration. "Oi, princess," he said softly, crouching down beside your chair. "You’re gonna fall asleep in the library like that? Not exactly the look you’re going for."

You didn’t respond. For a moment, you didn’t even blink. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

He nudged your shoulder gently. "Come on, wake up. Hey."

Nothing.

Your heart fluttered - an odd, sinking feeling you couldn’t quite place. You were alive, weren’t you? You felt your chest rise and fall. But something was wrong. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak.

Sirius’s brow furrowed. "Oi, what’s going on?" he asked softly, reaching out to shake you more firmly. "This isn’t funny."

Still, you remained frozen, eyes staring blankly ahead. Your head lolled slightly to the side, your body slack in the chair’s embrace. A shiver ran down your spine; a primal instinct told you that something was terribly wrong.

He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and gently shook your shoulders. "Come on, talk to me. Wake up."

No response.

His heart hammered in his chest. You weren’t responding. Your body was limp, unnaturally still.

"No, no, no," he whispered, voice cracking. Panic rising. His mind raced - what was happening?

He pressed his ear as close as he dared to your chest, listening desperately for a heartbeat. There it was, faint but steady - faint, slow, like a distant drum. You were alive, somehow, but not present. Not really.

His breath hitched as he stared at you, helpless.

"Please, no," he muttered, voice thick with emotion.

Without thinking, Sirius slid his arms under your body, lifting you carefully, cradling you against his chest as if afraid you’d shatter. Your head lolled against his collarbone, limp and unresponsive. His heart pounded harder now, pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

He sprinted through the rows of books, knocking over stacks in his haste, ignoring the startled shouts of Madam Pince, who hurried after him.

"Help! Somebody, I need help!" Sirius shouted, voice echoing down the corridor as he burst out into the hallway.

The hospital wing smelled like lavender and antiseptic, a familiar blend that didn’t bring comfort tonight. Madame Pomfrey was at her desk, meticulously organizing vials and bandages, when the doors swung open with a gust of wind and Sirius burst in, clutching you carefully.

Her eyes widened in alarm at the sight of you, unconscious and limp in his arms. "What happened?"

"I don’t know," Sirius gasped, pounding his fist against his chest as he tried to catch his breath. "She was just sitting there. She wouldn’t wake up."

Pomfrey hurried forward, her hands deft and sure. "Bring her here," she ordered, taking you from Sirius’s trembling grip and laying you gently onto a bed.

"She’s alive," Pomfrey said, brow furrowing. "But she’s not sleeping. This is . . . different."

Sirius clenched his fists, helpless and desperate. "What do you mean? Is she hurt?"

Pomfrey shook her head slowly. "It’s not a physical injury. This is magical. Or perhaps. . . something darker."

He looked at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "A curse?"

She nodded grimly. "Most likely. A very old, very powerful one."

Sirius felt the ground shift beneath his feet. "A curse? How? Why? I - "

Before he could finish, the door swung open again, and Professor Dumbledore entered with his usual calm grace, his robes flowing behind him like a gentle wave. His blue eyes, however, were sharp with concern.

He moved swiftly to your bedside, examining you with quiet precision. His fingers hovered over your brow, then traced down to your wrist.

"Leave us for a moment, Sirius," Dumbledore said softly, voice calm but firm.

Sirius hesitated, his jaw tight. But he nodded, stepping back into the corner, watching helplessly as Dumbledore’s gaze flicked over your still form.

He could hear the whispering of Pomfrey’s concerned murmurs, see the way her brow furrowed as she studied you.

Finally, Dumbledore turned to Sirius, his expression grave. "This is no ordinary sleep," he announced.

"You said it’s a curse," Sirius pressed. "Can you fix it?"

Dumbledore’s expression darkened, the lines around his eyes deepening as he folded his hands in front of him. “I wish I could. But some magic was forged not to be broken. This is a blood curse - ancient.”

Sirius stared at you. At the way your head lolled to the side, still tucked in close to your shoulder like you’d just drifted off mid-sentence. Your hand was still curled around your quill, ink smeared at the base of your palm. You looked so alive. Too alive to be cursed. Too alive to be gone.

But you weren’t breathing right. Not deeply, not the way you did when you fell asleep in the Common Room after a long patrol. He would’ve teased you for it, if this were different - how you snored just a little when you were really knackered, how your mouth always parted like you were in the middle of some secret dream. But there was none of that now.

Just stillness. Just silence.

“She was fine,” he said again, voice quieter this time. "She was laughing at McGonagall’s robes in Transfiguration. Making that bloody stupid joke about animagus hats. She was fine.”

Dumbledore looked at him, and there was no comfort in his eyes - only something impossibly old. “These curses often lie dormant until they are triggered. A moment of emotional intensity. Prolonged exhaustion. Sometimes even something as simple as turning seventeen. We don’t always know what wakes them.”

Sirius blinked hard. His throat was starting to close. “And now what? What do we do now?”

Dumbledore sighed. “We wait.”

“No,” Sirius snapped, too quickly, voice breaking on the edge of it. “That’s not- that’s not good enough.”

The air around him tightened, buzzing beneath his skin like he was about to explode. He’d lived his whole life under someone else’s control - his family, his bloody name, the rules of the castle, the limits of what magic could and couldn’t do - but this was different.

This was you. You weren’t supposed to fall asleep in a library and never wake up.

“This isn’t happening,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, pacing like he might wear a hole through the stone. “She’s not some fairytale. She’s not some . . . cursed maiden locked in a tower. She’s her. She’s stubborn, and she hates studying, and she always steals the last bit of toast when she thinks I’m not looking - she’s real.”

“I know,” Dumbledore said, quiet as ever.

“She can’t just - ” Sirius’s voice cracked again. “She can’t just go.”

“She’s not gone.”

“But you don’t know when she’s coming back.” The words scraped out of his throat like they’d been broken inside him. “You don’t know if she ever will.”

Silence.

And then, Dumbledore spoke again - gently, but with the weight of someone who had seen too much. “This curse runs in her family. Passed through generations. Few survive it more than once.”

Sirius’s hands curled into fists. “She didn’t even know.”

“Perhaps not,” Dumbledore allowed. “Or perhaps she did. But she hoped, as many do, that it would skip her.”

Sirius stared down at you, at your fingers, still ink-stained and human. “So what now?”

“Now we care for her,” Dumbledore said. “We wait. And we love her, even if she doesn’t know we’re here.”

“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “No. That’s not enough. That’s not me. I’m not going to just sit and watch her fade. There has to be something. Anything.”

Dumbledore hesitated.

And that hesitation - that split second - was all Sirius needed.

“There is something, isn’t there?” he said, stepping closer. “You’re holding something back.”

“It’s not something that can be done,” Dumbledore said slowly. “Not the way you think. This curse. . . it only yields to love. Not infatuation. Not obsession. Something older. Something that holds its shape even when time doesn’t.”

Sirius’s chest burned. “Then I’ll do it.”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I don’t care.”

“You would have to remain, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “Through months. Years. Decades, perhaps. And never know if she’ll wake. Or if she’ll remember. You’d have to love her in silence. Without promise. Without return.”

“I already do.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

The air felt different after that.

Dumbledore didn’t speak for a long time. Then he said, “If that is true, then you may be the only hope she has.”

Dumbledore sent word to your family within the hour.

Sirius wasn’t in the room when they arrived - Dumbledore had gently, firmly suggested he give them privacy - but he could hear the voices. Muffled through stone and spellwork. Raised. Bitter. Desperate.

They’d known. Not everything, but enough.

It had happened once before - a great-aunt, long dead, whose name had been scrubbed from the family tree out of shame or grief or maybe both. You were supposed to have been spared. A healer had sworn it dormant. A ritual had been done when you were a baby. There’d been no signs. You were bright, brilliant. Uncursed.

They’d believed in the lie because it was easier than preparing for the truth.

You woke up just after 4 days. Those 4 days were spent with Sirius visiting you in between classes, meals, Quidditch practices. His friends were growing worried for him as they also worried for you.

He looked changed in just a span of 4 days. 4 cruel days spent on your bedside begging you to wake up, begging you to come back to him.

Promising you grand pranks you could pull together, more alcoholic concoctions to throw up in the morning. He offered everything to see your eyes flutter open.

It wasn't fair. He was just beginning to know you, to love you - it all felt to fresh and raw and real - this cannot be happening to him.

When you woke up, it was so sudden.

Just a sharp inhale that jolted your whole body and the whisper of your name as Dumbledore caught your shoulder before you could fall out of the bed in shock.

You blinked at the light, slow and sluggish, as if waking from years instead of days. You reached for your wand first - you did not find it. Then your face. Then the necklace under your collarbone. None of it had changed. But everything had.

They cried - your parents. But not the way Sirius thought they would. Not relief, not love, not wild, stupid joy.

No, they cried like cowards. Quiet, ashamed, as if your waking made it worse. As if the confirmation of the curse meant the whole thing had been real all along. Like you were some buried secret they couldn’t keep hidden anymore.

Sirius watched it all from the hallway, fists clenched, pacing outside the Hospital Wing like he was about to be sick.

The door creaked open. Madam Pomfrey slipped out. “She’s awake.”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t even think.

He was inside the room before anyone could stop him, blood still thrumming in his ears. You were sitting up in bed, hair a tangle, voice raw as you said his name - confused, hoarse, like you hadn’t said it in years. “Sirius?”

He didn’t answer. He crossed the room and pulled you into him like you were drowning and he didn’t care if he sank too.

You tried to push him away after that.

It started the moment you woke up, dry-mouthed and weak, in the Hospital Wing. Four days. You'd lost four days of your life to a sleep you hadn’t meant to enter, and everything had changed.

You saw it in your parents’ eyes first. The shame. The quiet devastation. You saw it in the way Pomfrey didn’t scold you for trying to stand, and in the way Dumbledore couldn’t quite meet your gaze.

But most of all, you saw it in Sirius.

When he ran to you and pulled you into a hug, like holding you meant that it was all real. He just breathed like he'd finally surfaced from drowning.

You couldn’t look at him too long. Because the guilt hit harder than the fear. You hadn’t meant to become a problem. A burden. A question mark in someone else’s future.

So you did what you always did. You joked.

"You should probably date someone with a better track record for staying conscious," you said over breakfast the next morning, stirring your porridge like it might give you answers.

He didn’t laugh.

You tried again in the corridor. "Seriously, Sirius, you don’t have to do this whole loyal boyfriend routine. I know it’s been a weird month. I give you full permission to run."

He didn’t even blink - not even when you finally addressed him by first name. A progress to your now, very complicated, relationship.

"You think I’m staying because I feel bad?" he asked one night, voice low and raw. "You think this is pity?"

You shrugged, but your fingers clenched around the edge of your sleeve. "I think I wouldn’t blame you if you left."

And that was the truth. The quiet, aching part of it. That you didn’t think you deserved someone who stayed. It was a burden you could never ask of anyone.

He stepped closer then, close enough that his words landed right against your ribs.

"Don’t you get it?" he said, voice shaking with something bigger than anger. "I'm not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you wake."

It should’ve comforted you. It only made your chest ache harder.

Because you didn’t want him waiting around like some tragic romantic figure. You didn’t want to be the girl people wrote poems about after she vanished too soon. You wanted to be solid. Reliable. Here.

But you weren’t. And he's decided to stay anyway.

Even when you stopped meeting his eyes.

Even when you flinched in the middle of a sentence, panicked that a yawn might spiral into something worse.

Even when you stopped touching him entirely, afraid that if you reached for his hand, it might be the last thing you ever did.

Still, he stayed.

And he started leaving you things.

A tiny mirror charm on your nightstand, bewitched to show cartoon dog ears on your reflection when you frowned.

A chocolate frog with a note tucked inside the box that said, Still here. Always here.

A prank exploding parchment that poofed glitter in your face during a Charms study session and made you laugh until you nearly sobbed.

Sometimes it was just small things. A folded jacket over your chair when you forgot it was cold. A sugar quill tucked into your books.

It should have been too much. But it never was.

Because you missed him. Desperately.

You missed the ease. The banter. The feeling that you were someone he chose, not someone he pitied.

You missed before.

But there was no going back.

One afternoon, you found him outside the library, sitting on the floor with his head tipped back against the wall.

He wasn’t doing anything. No mischief, no plotting. Just staring up at the ceiling like he was trying to stay still. Like the world had moved on and he was trying to figure out how to follow it.

You hadn’t seen him all day.

And somewhere in your chest, the idea that he’d finally given up had lodged itself like a splinter. The relief that washed through you at the sight of him was nauseating.

He looked up when your footsteps stopped.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, finally: "I’m sorry."

Sirius blinked. His expression shifted from surprise to something softer.

"For what?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

"I don’t know," you said honestly. "Everything. Pushing you. Making you wait around for someone who can’t promise anything."

You hesitated.

"I wish you could love someone with less complications."

He stared at you for a moment, like you’d just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. And then, suddenly, he laughed.

A real, full-bodied laugh. Like it startled even him.

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden bark of laughter that escaped him out of nowhere. "What?"

"If this were easy," he said, still laughing, "I’d think it was some grand prank. I’d assume Moony and Prongs were hiding behind a tapestry ready to jump out."

You snorted despite yourself.

"Merlin, you’re so stupid."

And then you kissed him. Not planned. Not careful.

Just raw.

You kissed him like you were terrified and desperate and alive. Like if the curse took you tonight, you wanted this to be your last memory.

He didn’t pull away. Just froze for a breath. And then he was kissing you back with that same terrified urgency.

You pulled away after a second, just enough to murmur: "Just in case I don’t wake up tomorrow."

Sirius cupped your face with both hands then, thumbs brushing under your eyes like he was trying to memorize them.

His voice was soft. So gentle it hurt.

"Don’t worry about tomorrow," he whispered. "You’re awake right now."

You nodded. But your lip trembled."I’m so scared of falling asleep."

There. You said it. Finally voicing out the thought that haunted you at night. Bags hung under your eyes from nights you desperately tried to stay awake.

Your dormmates have all tried their best to offer any help they could. The whole castle knew your predicament by now - nothing ever stays a secret at Hogwarts.

You appreciated them, but nothing helped.

And when you finally said it, he didn’t flinch.

He just pulled you in again. Wrapped his arms around you like he could protect you from the unknown. From the curse that ran through your veins, as old as your magic.

"I know," he said. "I’m scared too."

And then he kissed your temple. Your forehead. The corner of your mouth, he wished he could kiss every inch of you.

"Don’t worry, love," he murmured. "I’ll be here when you open those pretty eyes."

And the thing is, you believed him. Even if it still hurt.

Even if you still woke every morning unsure if you'd made it through the night or it was some dream you have landed into.

He was always there.

And slowly, you started reaching back.

They didn’t have forever - so they started pretending like they did.

By late February, your hand had found a permanent place in Sirius’s.

He joked that the skin might fuse together if you weren’t careful, and you’d laughed - really laughed - for the first time since you’d woken from that cursed sleep. He’d grinned like a fool then, pride blooming in his chest just for being the reason your shoulders weren’t tight with fear, just for chasing the shadow from your eyes, even for a moment.

You’d made it through March. Barely. Some days your legs dragged beneath you like your body already knew the sleep was coming. Some nights Sirius had to shake you awake from dozes you didn’t remember falling into. But you were still here. And so was he.

Hogsmeade in spring felt like a stolen miracle.

He took your hand outside Honeydukes, lifting it to his lips with a boyish smile. “So, what’ll it be, darling? Chocolate frogs or a full day of snogging behind the Shrieking Shack?”

You rolled your eyes. “If I die in the Shrieking Shack, Sirius Black, you better be ready to fight off some angry ghosts.”

He beamed. “Then it’s a date.”

You weren’t hiding anymore. He’d told everyone. James had fist-bumped you and said it was about time. Remus had congratulated you as well, making a sarcastic remark that "Pads can finally stop moaning about how much he wants you now that you can snog him into silence." Even Peter had hugged you with the kind of gentleness that meant he’d heard. That he understood.

And the pranks - oh, the pranks.

It started with your idea, actually. A tiny hex that made Filch’s boots click like tap shoes. The look on Sirius’s face when you suggested it - pure, lovesick awe.

“Marry me,” he said, half-joking.

You tilted your head. “Better wait until I survive the school year.”

The boys had welcomed you into their chaos without question. You were a natural. A little louder than James, a little sharper than Remus, and exactly Sirius’s brand of reckless.

When you came back one night covered in soot and giggling from a dungbomb gone wrong, Sirius tugged you close on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, kissed your temple, and whispered, “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

But he was the brilliant one. The constant. Every night, after curfew, he would draw the curtains of his four-poster and you would curl beside him. The other boys never said a word - not one complaint, not even a tease.

You were terrified to sleep alone. And they understood.

Some nights you fell asleep tangled together, his arms around your waist, your breath uneven against his neck.

Other nights, sleep wouldn’t come. You’d lie awake listening to his heartbeat and whisper nonsense into the dark. Sirius would hold you tighter, thumb brushing lazy circles into your spine.

And every single night, he would say, without fail:

“Tomorrow will come for you, love. For us. I’ll be here, handsome as ever when the sun rises.”

You pretended to believe it. Most nights, you even did.

April crept in like a thief. The scent of rain on stone, blossoms blooming beside the lake, the castle lit with gold and promise. Exams were approaching. So was the end.

So was the sleep.

And then - you didn’t wake up.

It was a Thursday.

You’d said goodnight. You’d kissed him. You’d whispered your usual lie: “See you in the morning.”

And then - nothing.

The Healers said it was the curse reasserting itself. That your body was fighting to stay, but the magic was older than any potion. There was no way to stop it. No one knew how long it would last.

Sirius didn’t move from the Hospital Wing for a week.

James brought food. Remus sat with him in the early mornings. Peter left chocolate frogs on the table beside your bed. But Sirius - he stayed. He barely slept. He wrote letters and folded them beneath your pillow. He spoke to you like you were just resting.

“You’re not gone,” he said one night, voice cracking. “You’re just late. You’ve always been late to things, remember? You’ll wake up and tell me I’m being dramatic.”

But you didn’t wake.

You missed the N.E.W.T.s. Missed the way Remus clutched his results in trembling hands. Missed James and Lily getting into a blazing row about the future and making up in the courtyard two hours later.

You missed the last Gryffindor breakfast, the daisy chain crowns, the class photo with everyone laughing too hard to stand still.

You missed graduation.

Sirius didn’t walk. He refused. Said he wouldn’t cross a finish line you hadn’t.

By July, he was different. Gaunt-eyed. Brittle-tempered. The war had begun - the real one - and he joined the Order like his blood was already boiling for vengeance.

But still, he wrote you letters.

He left them at St. Mungo’s when you were transferred there in August. Left chocolates, enchanted notes, silly doodles. He threatened the mediwitch who tried to call you a lost cause.

“She’s not gone,” he snapped. “She’s just waiting.”

And then - autumn came.

And you woke up.

The world smelled different. Crisper. More distant.

You were eighteen now. But the world had moved on without you.

Your body was slow to respond. Magic flickered in your hands but didn’t sing the way it used to. You blinked against the sterile light of St. Mungo’s, head pounding, heart aching.

And then the door opened.

Sirius stood in the frame.

Older. Sharper. Shadows under his eyes, jaw tighter, arms crossed like he’d forgotten how to relax. But still - him. Still yours. Always yours.

He stared at you for a moment like you were a ghost.

And then he was at your side, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair back with shaking fingers.

“You missed a war,” he said, voice rough.

You tried to smile. “Did we win?”

He didn’t answer that. Just leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

“And I missed you,” he whispered. “Every damn day.”

You moved in together. Shared a flat with creaky floors and mismatched furniture, patched together like your hearts. You tried to build a life between sleep and fear - fleeting moments of normalcy suspended in the quiet before sirens, the hush before screams.

The flat became a fragile sanctuary. You lit candles during power outages and cooked dinner over the radio’s static updates. Some nights you danced in the kitchen just to remember joy. Other nights, you held each other in the dark, neither speaking, just listening to the wind press against the windows like a warning.

You kept a journal now - small and leather-bound, pages inked with memories of what you missed, what he told you, and what you dreamed when you were gone. You wrote down things like: his laugh this morning, like something untouched by war. Or: he said “stay safe” like he meant “stay alive.”

You lived like it might all vanish again. Because it would. Because war takes everything, even the things you think are untouchable.

You both tried to power through it, despite the raging war around you and the brewing danger that curled like smoke under your door. Each day was a risk. Each night, a relief.

You were worried for him - for the way his name appeared in whispered conversations, for the work he did in shadows. But you knew it was right. He was trying to change the story.

Sirius sometimes talked about stopping. Once, after a long silence over cold tea, he said quietly, almost ashamed, “I barely get enough moments with you, with all this happening - what if I just get less and less time?”

You reached across the table, grabbed his hand like it was the only steady thing in a world falling apart. You shook your head, firm. “No. You don’t get to give up. You’re fighting for a good cause. Let’s be on the good side of history when people look back on this time.”

His eyes searched yours - tired but still burning - and after a breath, he nodded. “You’re right. You always are.”

So you both joined the Order.

Not because you weren’t scared, but because you were. Because fear can hollow you or harden you - and you chose to fight.

Then one night, in a small and quiet gathering of Order members - tired, battle-worn, but still fighting to hold onto something human - Lily stood up.

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and smiled - truly smiled, not the brittle one she'd worn through grief and fear, but something bright and real, like the girl she used to be before the war.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

For a moment, the room was still - stunned into silence. And then it erupted like spring breaking through frost.

James laughed so loudly it startled the portraits on the walls. He beamed like the sun - the kind of joy that doesn’t ask permission. Remus stood and clapped him on the back, his eyes glassy with tears he wouldn’t let fall. Sirius made a strangled noise, like a laugh and a sob at once, and buried his face in his hands.

When he looked up, his grin was crooked and wild. Peter smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes - there was something distant in his expression, like he was somewhere else entirely. You noticed. But you hadn’t been around long enough to know what was normal for Peter anymore, so you let it slide.

The Marauders buzzed with pride, their joy loud and golden, filling every dark corner of that war-battered room. Your found family, in all its ragged glory, clung to joy wherever it bloomed - because joy was a form of resistance too.

Later that night, after the toasts and the storytelling and the laughter worn thin from overuse, the others drifted away. Candles burned low. The room emptied, settling into silence.

That’s when Sirius pulled you aside.

He looked different in the low light - softer somehow. His usual fire had banked into something slower, more careful. There was a tremble in his hand as he reached for yours, not from fear, but from urgency.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he said. His voice was low, stripped of bravado. “I don’t want to wait. Not with everything going on. Not with how time keeps. . . stealing you.”

Your heart caught. Because he was right. Every day was a borrowed page, every goodbye heavy with the question: will there be another? Will tomorrow really come?

He pulled something from his pocket - a ring, simple but quietly extraordinary. It shimmered like starlight, charmed with a magic that whispered permanence in a world that promised none.

“Marry me,” he said.

There was no speech, no preamble. Just those two words. And then more: “I know it’s selfish. I know you’re scared. But I don’t want anyone else. It’s you or nothing. It’s always been you.”

You opened your mouth, the beginnings of protest forming. You wanted to say he might regret it. That the war could tear you away, again. That love like this didn’t always get a happy ending, not with your curse anyway.

But he saw it all in your eyes and stopped you before the words could shape.

“All we have is now,” he whispered. “Say yes. Say yes while you’re here.”

And something in you - some quiet, aching truth - answered him before your lips did.

So you said yes.

You were so afraid but you said yes despite yourself and the clawing fear. Because love, in this world, wasn’t a promise. It was a defiance, and in some fairy tales, love is how you beat war.

Your wedding was held shortly after his proposal and it wasn't big at all.

There were no grand halls or gilded arches, no glittering lights or towering cakes. Just a windswept clearing in the woods near Godric’s Hollow, with wildflowers bowing in the breeze and magic humming softly through the air like it recognized something sacred.

Only friends were there - the people who mattered, who had bled and laughed and fought beside you. The ones who’d become family when bloodlines stopped meaning anything.

Remus officiated, because of course he did. He stood in worn robes, clutching a piece of parchment he barely needed to glance at, his voice steady despite the tremble in his hands. He kept it simple, heartfelt. There were no flowery vows, no overly rehearsed speeches - just truth spoken between people who knew how precious time had become.

Lily cried, openly, beautifully - tears glinting in the sunlight as she clutched James’s hand. James looked at her like she hung the stars, then raised a glass and made a toast full of wit and warmth, ending with, “To love that fights, even when the world’s falling down.”

Sirius kissed you like a vow, like he could stitch you into the present with just his mouth on yours. There was no audience in that moment, no war, no future - just the weight of his hands on your face, the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your palms. A promise sealed in the kind of silence that means everything.

Afterward, when the sky began to burn gold and purple at the edges, and laughter floated over shared food and spiked cider, you pulled him aside. Looked him in the eyes.

“Don’t regret this,” you said.

He smiled at you - not the cocky grin he gave the world, but something gentler, quieter. A smile made just for you.

“Never,” he said. “Not in any lifetime.”

And for a while, things were good. The war kept brewing but you stayed awake, greeting him like it's the best surprise every morning. Only, he greeted you now as his Wife.

Then Harry was born - tiny, wrinkled, and loud enough to shake the walls of the cottage with his arrival. The kind of scream that said, I’m here. I survived.

You were there. In the still-soft hours after, Lily handed him to you, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something fierce and unbreakable.

She placed him in your arms like it was the most natural thing in the world - like she was giving you hope in human form.

He was beautiful. Small fists curled in sleep, a shock of black hair, his father’s stubborn chin already making itself known. And those eyes - not James’s, but hers. Green and bright and knowing.

For a moment, you all forgot there was a war. Just long enough to believe in a future.

You and the Marauders became the babysitters.

It wasn’t official, but it was understood. Harry would grow up surrounded by magic and mischief and unbreakable love - even if the world outside was falling apart. You rocked him to sleep in Lily’s favorite chair, humming lullabies that didn’t quite belong to you.

Remus read him stories in soft, calming tones, changing his voice for each character until the baby would babble back in delight. Peter would bring sweets and toys, always a little awkward, like he was trying to earn a place in a world that had started to drift just beyond his reach.

And Sirius - Sirius made him laugh. Real, belly-deep baby giggles, the kind that echoed through the house and made even the darkest thoughts scatter for a while. He barked like a dog, of course. Poked his tongue out. Pulled ridiculous faces that turned Harry red with laughter and left James wheezing from the couch. Harry adored him.

One night, after the baby had worn himself out and fallen asleep curled in James’ arms, the fire crackling low and quiet in the hearth, Sirius turned to you. His hair was mussed from Harry’s tiny fists, and his smile was soft - the kind that only came out in quiet moments like this.

“He’s so bloody cute,” he whispered, watching the baby’s chest rise and fall. “I think I want one of my own.”

Your breath hitched.

The air felt too still, too sharp. “Sirius - ”

You didn’t have to finish. He saw it instantly - the fear blooming behind your eyes. Fear of the future. Fear of hope. Fear of losing again.

He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like he was anchoring you.

“It’s alright,” he said gently. “It’s just a thought. We don’t have to. I just. . . I love this. I love you. And I’d never let anything happen. You hear me?”

He touched your cheek then, eyes full of that same vow he’d made the day you married. “If you ever fell asleep again, I’d hold the world steady until you came back.”

You nodded, even as your heart clenched. Because that’s what Sirius Black did - he made impossible promises and meant every one.

And time passed. Quietly, quickly. Like a thief.

Then came the mission.

Just another assignment with the Order. Nothing you hadn’t done before. Nothing worth fearing, not really. But Sirius was tense. He lingered at the door, kissed your forehead too long. Held your hands like they were glass.

You kissed him that night, trying to lighten the mood, trying to be brave for both of you. “If I don’t wake for a while,” you whispered, smiling softly, “tell me you’ll wait again.”

He kissed you back like he was sealing a spell, like he could pour every ounce of magic he had into your skin.

“Always,” he said. “Tomorrow will come for you, love. For us. I’ll be here - handsome as ever - when the sun rises.”

It did not go well. You encountered a death eater and was severely hurt, still alive and fighting but through your fight to stay alive - you slipped into the darkness.

Tomorrow came, and you didn’t wake.

Not the next morning.

Not the next week.

Not when Lily and James were murdered in their home, his body in the hallway leading to the nursery, her body found crumpled over a crib that somehow still held a crying child.

Not when Sirius found them first. Not when he fell to his knees on the floor, screaming James’ name so loud it broke something inside him forever.

Not when Peter turned traitor and vanished in the smoke of his own destruction.

Not when Sirius was blamed - framed - and hunted like a beast. Not when they cornered him on that street and stripped him of everything.

Not even when they dragged him to Azkaban.

You didn’t stir.

He screamed your name in that prison cell. Whispered your promises to the cracks in the stone. Waited for the sunrise that never came.

And still, you didn’t wake.

Not until three years into his sentence, when the war was over, the dead buried, and the child orphaned.

You had promised to be there when the sun rose.

But this time, time didn’t keep its promise.

you left me no, you left me no choice but to stay here forever. . .

end. masterlist

[pinkmoontaco]

Hi, love your work. Could you do a Wonwoo x idol!reader. Wonwoo is enlisting. where she gets to know from a Weverse announcement same as Carats and is mad at him and then he is explaining her why he hid that from her. Some angst and fluff at the end.

"You Should’ve Told Me." || Jeon Wonwoo

Pairing: Idol Wonwoo X Idol Reader Genre: Fluff, angst A.N: Please give it lots of love and support! Don’t forget to leave your thoughts, comments and don't forget to follow for more stories like this—they mean so much to me and help me improve. Your feedback and encouragement keep me motivated to keep writing. Thank you for being patient and sticking with me. Love you guys 💖💖 And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other groups M.list

The sound of your phone vibrating against the table barely registered at first. Practice had been brutal today, and your muscles ached as you finally settled on the couch. With a sigh, you grabbed your phone to check the endless notifications — but one stood out.

[Weverse Announcement]

"SEVENTEEN’s Jeon Wonwoo to enlist this July."

You froze.

Your eyes scanned the words again — once, twice — but the meaning never changed. July. Two months away. He was leaving... and you hadn’t even known.

Your hand clenched around the phone as a dull ache spread through your chest.

Why didn’t he tell me?

Heart pounding, you tapped his contact and pressed ‘call.’

It rang. Once... twice... straight to voicemail.

"Hey, this is Wonwoo. I’ll call you back soon."

You bite your lip, swallowing the lump rising in your throat.

"Is this how I was supposed to find out?"

Your fingers hovered over the screen. Part of you wanted to say more — something angrier, something sharper — but instead, you hit send.

It was nearly midnight when he showed up at your door.

You hadn’t moved from the couch. The silence in your apartment felt suffocating — too loud, yet too empty at the same time.

When the doorbell rang, you didn’t hesitate.

Wonwoo stood there, shoulders tense, eyes tired. He barely looked like himself — his usual calm replaced with something heavier.

“Y/N…” His voice was low, unsure. “Can I come in?”

“You’re a little late for that,” you muttered, stepping aside anyway.

He walked in, his steps hesitant. The air felt thick — like the weight of everything unsaid was pressing down on you both.

“You saw the announcement,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question — just a fact he couldn’t avoid.

“Of course I did.” Your voice trembled despite your best efforts. “Same as Carats. Same as strangers. Same as everyone else.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“When?” Your voice sharpened. “When you were packing your bags? When you were halfway to the military base?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” He admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I kept thinking… maybe if I waited a little longer, it’d be easier.”

“Easier?” You let out a bitter laugh. “For whom, Wonwoo? Because finding out like this? It didn’t exactly feel easy for me.”

His face crumpled slightly, like your words had hit harder than you’d intended.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he murmured. “I knew if I told you sooner, you’d just—” He exhaled sharply. “You’d spend every second worrying. I didn’t want you to carry that.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Your voice broke. “You didn’t want me to hurt, so you just... what? Pretended like nothing was happening? You let me believe we had all this time, and now I find out from a public post?”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said quietly.

“You weren’t,” you snapped. “You were protecting yourself — because you didn’t want to deal with how hard this would be.”

Wonwoo flinched like you’d struck him. His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, you wondered if he’d just leave — walk out like he always did when things got too overwhelming.

But then, his voice broke the silence.

“I was scared,” he said softly — so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

You froze.

“I was scared because…” He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “Because if I told you, it would make it real. And if it was real… then I’d have to think about leaving you.”

His eyes were glassy now, his gaze fixed on you like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. Slowly — cautiously — he reached for your hand.

And this time... you didn’t stop him.

“You’re such an idiot,” you muttered, your fingers curling tightly around his.

“I know.” His lips twitched — the smallest smile breaking through. “But I’m your idiot.”

Despite everything, you let out a breathy laugh. “That’s barely an excuse.”

“I’ll do better,” he promised. His voice softened, warm and earnest. “I’ll tell you everything from now on — no more shutting you out.”

“You better.”

Before you could say anything more, he tugged you closer — arms circling your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” he mumbled against your skin.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and you clutched him tightly — like letting go would make him disappear.

“I’ll wait for you,” you whispered. “No matter how long it takes.”

“You don’t have to,” he said softly, lifting his head to cup your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away your tears with gentle strokes. “I don’t want you to put your life on hold.”

“I’m not putting my life on hold,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “But I’m not going anywhere either. We’ll get through this.”

“You’re too good to me,” he whispered.

“You owe me for this one,” you teased with a watery smile.

“Anything you want,” he promised, pressing his forehead to yours. “Anything.”

“Just... come back to me,” you whispered.

“I will,” he breathed. “I swear.”

His lips found yours then — slow and gentle, like he was memorizing everything about you. When he pulled away, he kissed your forehead, your cheek, and the tip of your nose — like each kiss was a quiet promise to return.

“You’re stuck with me,” he whispered, voice warm against your skin. “Even if I’m miles away.”

“You’re such a sap,” you mumbled, smiling despite your tears.

“Only for you,” he grinned, finally — the smile you adored, the one that reached his eyes.

That night, you refused to let him leave. Instead, you pulled him down beside you on the couch, tangling your fingers with his as you curled into his side. His arm was firm around you, fingers lazily tracing circles on your arm — like he was grounding himself in your presence.

“I’m not leaving yet,” he whispered sleepily.

“I know,” you murmured. “But I just… want to stay like this a little longer.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “For as long as you want.”

And for the rest of the night, neither of you let go.

[pinkpurplesunrises]

I was just trying to breathe (and then you knocked)

+/- 7500 words - the long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Maybe this will heal the loneliness - Angst and Fluff - Mentions of loneliness and grief - Please read with care.

I was feeling a bit lonely, that's when my creative brain hit and got this out of my system. I loved the process of writing this one. Felt kind of reassuring and relieving. I tried my best spanish. I hope that you like this. Please leave some feedback if you want to. Enjoy reading!

The coffee’s bitter. You ordered it with sugar but the woman behind the counter must’ve forgotten. Or maybe you didn’t speak loud enough. It doesn’t matter. You drink it anyway.

The little cafe is nearly empty, which suits you fine. There’s a kind of comfort in being alone among strangers. Like being a ghost no one realizes is haunting the room.

You’ve been coming here almost every day since moving out. Not because it’s good. It isn’t, really. But because it’s somewhere. Somewhere to sit. Somewhere to feel like life is happening around you, even if you’re not quite part of it.

It’s early spring but the wind outside still bites. You’ve got your coat wrapped around you too tight and your scarf smells like the box you pulled it out of. You tell yourself you’re just tired. Not lonely. Just tired.

You scroll your phone with the sort of dead-eyed hope that maybe, this time, there’ll be something different. A message. A job interview. A friend remembering you exist. But all you get is the usual silence.

You’re halfway through your lukewarm toast when the door opens. You don’t look up at first. Too used to people coming and going. But something makes you glance up. Maybe it’s the shift in the room. The way cold air rushes in behind her, carrying the kind of gravity that some people just have without meaning to.

She’s tall. Not just in height, but in presence. Blonde hair tied back. Headphones around her neck. Suitcase at her feet. She’s got this look in her eyes that’s both determined and completely elsewhere.

You watch her order, half-listening. Her voice is low. Raspy like she hasn’t used it much lately. Her accent marks her as Catalan. She says 'gràcies' like it’s a muscle she’s trying to keep from forgetting how to move.

She picks a seat by the window. Not too far from you. Just two tables down. Close enough that you can hear the quiet zip of her backpack opening. The creak of her leather jacket when she sits.

You try not to stare, but you do.

Because there’s something about her that feels familiar. Not in a 'have we met before?' kind of way. But in that deeper, unspoken language of grief. The way she keeps her eyes down. The way she sits like she’s been carved out from the inside. Like she’s trying to take up less space than she actually does.

She’s young. Your age, maybe. Eighteen, give or take. But she looks older in the way people do when something big has happened. Something that cracked them open and left the wound just under the skin.

You wonder what she’s running from. Or maybe what she's running to. The suitcase hints at movement. Transition. Maybe she’s leaving someone. Maybe she’s lost someone.

You don’t mean to, but your eyes catch hers for half a second. She doesn’t flinch but she doesn’t smile either. Just looks. Like she’s trying to decide whether or not you’re real.

You glance away. The toast tastes like cardboard now.

There’s a strange electricity in the air. Not romantic, not yet. Just present. A kind of awareness. Two people orbiting just close enough to feel the pull.

She sets her coffee down with a little too much force. Like maybe her hands are heavier than they should be. She stares out the window like it’s easier than looking at the world.

And you... you do what you always do. You say nothing.

But something in you shifts.

You think: maybe she’s just as lost as I am.

You think: maybe we’re both just pretending not to fall apart.

You don’t know her name yet.

You don’t know that she just buried her father two months ago and hasn’t really spoken to her sister since. She tries with her mother. It's all a lot.

You don’t know that the suitcase beside her holds more than clothes. That it holds a thousand moments she hasn’t let herself cry about. Jerseys that still smell like the old house. Letters she never sent. A football tucked into the corner like a relic from a life that feels like someone else’s now.

You don’t know that she got a call from Barcelona and said yes without knowing why. That she’s scared, too. That she sat in the buss for an hour too long before deciding she wasn’t ready to arrive yet.

But you will.

You’ll learn all of it, eventually. In glances. In silence. In the way she finally says your name one night like it’s an answer to a question she didn’t know she’d been asking.

But for now... it’s just you and her.

Two strangers. Two cups of bitter coffee.

And the slow, quiet beginning of something that neither of you has words for yet.

You don’t expect to see her again.

People like that, they pass through. Like train station echoes or songs heard in a shop you never find again. Beautiful in the moment. Gone before you realize you were holding your breath.

But life... as it turns out... has a strange sense of timing.

It’s three days later. The hallway in your apartment smells like paint and dust, and the landlord is still pretending that 'we’re fixing the boiler next week' means anything. You’re halfway up the stairs with two bags of groceries cutting into your fingers when you hear it. The soft thud of footsteps. A door clicking shut.

You glance up.

And there she is.

Same suitcase. Same leather jacket. A different hoodie. This one a deep navy blue. Sleeves stretched over her hands. She’s staring at the apartment across from yours like it’s a puzzle she doesn’t know how to solve.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

She turns when she hears you. Slow. Careful. Like maybe she was hoping she’d be alone. Her eyes widen a fraction when she recognizes you. But still, no smile. Just that same guarded curiosity. Like she’s waiting for you to speak first.

You do.

“…Hey.”

She nods. “Hi.”

Your voice sounds stupid in your ears. Too sharp. Too awkward. You shift your weight, adjusting the bags in your hands as if that might distract from the heat climbing up your neck.

“I guess we’re neighbors now?”

A pause. She nods again, then glances at the door. “Yeah. I think so.”

You catch the edge of her accent again. Soft and clipped. Heavy with something unspoken. She fumbles for the key like her hands don’t quite trust themselves. When she finally gets the door open, it sticks. Of course it does. Everything in this building is a little broken.

You speak before you think.

“Want help?”

She hesitates.

And then... barely... she steps back. “Sure.”

You wedge your foot against the doorframe. Lean your shoulder into it and it groans open with a reluctant creak. The air inside is cold and stale. Like no one’s been in there for a while. The lights are off.

You step back, letting her enter first.

“Thanks,” she says, quiet. She doesn’t look at you when she says it.

“No problem.”

You’re not sure if you’re supposed to leave now. She’s halfway through dragging the suitcase over the threshold when she glances back.

“I’m Alexia.”

She says it like it’s a warning, not a name.

You tell her yours. You don’t add the way your heart skips a beat when she says hers. You don’t ask why it sounds so familiar. You’ll figure it out later. The small articles. The youth matches. The 'future of Spanish football' label she’s already tired of hearing.

For now, she’s just Alexia.

She nods again, as if sealing some silent contract between you.

And then she disappears inside, door closing with a soft finality.

You don’t see her again for two more days.

You think about her, though. Not obsessively, just… often. In the way your brain keeps replaying the way she stood. Shoulders too tense, like she was trying not to shake. You wonder if she’s eating. If she’s sleeping. If the apartment next door is just as cold and empty as it looked.

Then, one night, you hear it.

It’s late. Past 1 a.m. You’re sitting on your floor. Curled under a blanket. Eating cereal and watching a dumb movie on your laptop with the volume low. And then, through the thin wall, you hear it:

Crying.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… quiet. The kind of crying people do when they’re trying not to be heard. Choked and slow. Like something being wrung out of her.

It punches a hole in your chest.

You don’t know what to do.

You press your ear closer to the wall. Not to spy. Just to know. To be sure you’re not imagining it. But it’s real. Raw and muffled and awful.

You want to knock on her door. You want to bring her tea. You want to do something. Anything. To ease the weight in her voice.

But you don’t.

Because what do you say to someone you barely know. Who carries grief like a second skin?

So you sit there, still, listening to the sound of heartbreak leaking through plaster.

And somehow... in the stillness of that night, something in you softens.

You’re not alone in your loneliness anymore.

And neither is she.

You’re not a morning person.

Not in the cute, relatable, oops-I-snoozed-again kind of way. More like a slow-moving existential ghost who regrets all life choices before 10 a.m. You’ve made peace with that. Sort of.

You're wrapped in an old hoodie. You're staring blankly at the kettle as it rattles its way toward boiling, when there’s a knock at your door.

Not a loud knock. Just a hesitant, single rap. Like whoever’s on the other side isn’t even sure they want to be there.

You don’t expect it to be her.

But when you open the door... there she is.

Alexia.

She looks like she hasn’t slept. Her hoodie’s creased at the elbows, and her ponytail is slightly lopsided in a way that makes you feel like maybe she didn’t look in a mirror this morning. There’s something raw in her expression. Not emotional, exactly, but stripped back. Honest.

“…Sorry,” she says, voice raspy. “Do you, uh...”

She clears her throat. Looks down at her feet like they might have the courage she’s missing.

“Do you have any food?”

You blink. “Food?”

“I haven’t gone shopping yet.”

You process this slowly. You think of the crying through the wall. You think of the dark, empty apartment. The way she looked at her suitcase like it had teeth.

“Um. Yeah. I mean. Kind of.”

You open the door wider.

She hesitates for a second, then steps inside like she’s doing something illegal. her eyes flick around your small kitchen-living-room situation. The cluttered counter. The single dying plant on the windowsill. The cereal box you forgot to put away.

“This is fine?” she asks.

“It's all I've got,” you mutter. “I’m not exactly… a breakfast person.”

She doesn't answer. She just sits at your tiny table. Silent. You pour two bowls of cereal. Slightly embarrassed by how unimpressive your hospitality is, and push one toward her.

She digs in like it’s the first real meal she’s had in days.

You try not to stare. But it’s hard not to notice how fast she eats. Not messily. Just… focused. Like the bowl is a battlefield she’s determined to win.

You clear your throat. Unsure if you should fill the silence or let her have it.

“So… you just moved in yesterday?”

She nods. Swallows. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you again after the café.”

She offers a faint shrug. “Didn’t think I’d end up across the hall.”

There’s a pause. The kind that stretches just a second too long. You sip your coffee. She pours herself a second bowl without asking. And you respect that, actually.

“You got plans today?” you ask. Mostly just to hear something other than the scrape of her spoon.

Her expression shifts. Just slightly. A flash of something. Nerves? Determination?

“Yeah,” she says. “First day. At Barça.”

You pause mid-sip. “Barça like… Barcelona? Football Barça?”

She nods, casual. Like it’s nothing. Like she didn’t just casually drop a bomb.

You try to play it cool. Fail miserably.

“Wait. You’re a footballer?”

Another shrug. “Trying to be.”

“Oh.” You pause. “Cool.”

It’s the least cool thing you’ve ever said.

She gives a small, almost-smile. Barely there. But enough to knock the wind out of you for a second. It softens her face. Rounds the hard edges you didn’t know you were watching for.

She finishes the second bowl. Looks up.

“Thanks,” she says, quietly. “For this.”

“No problem.”

You’re not sure if she means the food, or the silence you gave her while she ate it. Maybe both.

When she leaves, the room feels heavier. Not in a bad way. Just… quieter. Like something’s changed. Like you let someone in, even just for a moment, and now the air can’t go back to how it was.

You rinse out the bowls and wonder how long she hadn’t eaten.

You wonder why you care.

You wonder if she’ll knock again.

And then you sit back at your table. Staring at the empty seat across from you. Trying to ignore the very stupid. Very real ache blooming in your chest.

It’s just cereal.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

But somehow, it already does.

You’re at your second class when your mind starts drifting.

It’s not that the lecture is boring... not really. It’s just that your thoughts keep sneaking away. Folding back into the apartment building. To the quiet next door.

You wonder how Alexia’s first day went.

Did the team impress her? Did they laugh with her or at her? Did she feel like she belonged. Or like she was still trying to find the rhythm in a song she barely knew?

You catch yourself hoping she’s okay.

You don’t know why.

You shove your phone into your bag, trying to focus. But even when you’re scribbling notes... your brain loops back to that breakfast, to the way she ate like she hadn’t eaten in days and the way her eyes flickered with something unreadable when she said 'Barça.'

The afternoon passes in a blur.

By the time you get back to your apartment, the sky’s bruised purple and the building smells like rain.

You unlock your door and slip inside. Kicking off your shoes. The walls here are thin. Thinner than you thought, and as you settle onto your couch... you hear it again.

That sound.

A soft, choked breath.

Then a voice. Quiet, but cracked with emotion.

You freeze.

It’s Spanish.

A voice you recognize now. Alexia’s.

You lean closer to the wall. Heart hammering.

“Mamá...” she whispers, voice barely more than a tremble.

You catch the ragged edge. The ache beneath her words.

“No sé qué hacer...” she says, voice breaking. “Siento que... que mi hermana me odia. Que... no puedo arreglarlo.”

You imagine her curled on the floor. Knees pulled close. Phone pressed to her ear like a lifeline.

“Es como si todo lo que perdí...” she breathes. Voice thick with grief. “...se juntara y no pudiera respirar. No puedo ser fuerte ahora, mamá. No sé cómo.”

You don’t move.

You just listen.

The kind of pain that lives in silences. The kind that feels too big for words.

“Quiero que me entiendas,” she says. “Pero no sé si pueda perdonarme a mí misma. Por dejar todo atrás, por no ser perfecta...”

The line goes quiet for a moment.

Then, soft and broken:

“Te quiero...”

You don’t know what else she says after that.

But you feel it. The raw, fragile hope tangled up in her voice.

She’s not okay.

But she’s still fighting.

And you... you want to be part of that fight.

Even if you don’t know how.

For the first time since you moved in, the loneliness feels… less like a wall and more like a bridge.

You pull your knees close. Heart aching in the best and worst way.

Because sometimes, the loudest words are the ones whispered between walls.

You don’t cook often.

Not because you hate it. Though some days you’re convinced that’s true. But because you’re better at eating food than making it. Your usual approach is to keep things simple: cereal, toast, instant noodles. You’re not the 'let’s make a three-course meal' type. More like the 'please don’t set the kitchen on fire' type.

But today… today you do it on purpose.

Or at least. You try.

You spend an hour fumbling around your tiny kitchen. Trying to follow a recipe for something that looks way more impressive than it turns out. Smoke alarm? Yep. Flour everywhere? Definitely. Pasta boiled dry? Absolutely.

The dish looks… let’s just say it’s not going to win any awards. But it smells good enough to convince you that your effort matters more than perfection.

You wrap it carefully in foil. Slip it into a plastic container and take a deep breath before knocking on Alexia’s door.

Your heart pounds like you’re about to confess a terrible secret.

She opens the door. Eyes widening at the sight of the steaming container in your hands.

“What’s this?”

You shrug, cheeks burning.

“I, uh… I made too much. Thought you might want some.”

She studies you for a moment. Like trying to figure out if you’re serious or joking.

Then, with the smallest smile, she steps aside.

“Come in.”

Her apartment smells different from yours. Cleaner. But colder.

You sit at the edge of her couch. The silence thick but not uncomfortable.

Alexia unwraps the foil carefully. Then takes a tentative bite.

Her eyes flicker.

“It’s… good,” she says softly.

You laugh, relief flooding you.

“Good for someone who almost burned the kitchen down.”

She laughs too. Low and real, the kind that reaches her eyes.

For the first time, the walls between you don’t feel so tall.

And maybe, just maybe, this is how it starts.

You sit cross-legged on her couch. The remnants of your overcooked pasta sitting forgotten between you.

Alexia picks up the empty container. Turning it in her hands.

“Thanks,” she says again. Quieter this time. Like it means something more than just food.

You notice something else. Her water glass is empty and there’s no sign of any other drinks.

“Do you have anything to drink?” you ask. Trying not to sound like you’re prying.

She shakes her head.

“Didn’t get groceries yet.”

You nod, understanding. It’s hard. Easier to let days pass without the effort.

Without thinking much, you say, “Hey… I’m going out to get some stuff. Want to come with me?”

Her eyes flick up. Surprised.

“I mean, if you want,” you add quickly, feeling awkward.

She hesitates.

Then, slowly, a small smile.

“Okay.”

The two of you step out into the warm afternoon. The city humming softly around you.

Walking side by side feels strange at first. A new rhythm you’re both still finding.

At the store, you grab a basket and start picking up essentials: bread, juice, fresh fruit.

She lingers at the shelves. Eyes scanning, then reaching for the yogurt.

You watch her. Noticing the careful way she selects things. Like she’s learning, or maybe relearning, how to take care of herself.

In the checkout line, you talk about little things: the weather, music, the tiny plant in your kitchen that’s somehow still alive.

She laughs. A full unguarded laugh when you admit you once bought instant noodles thinking they were healthy.

It feels easy. It feels good.

And for the first time, the silence between you isn’t heavy. It’s comfortable.

You walk back together. Bags in hand. The city folding around you like a promise.

Maybe this is how healing starts.

One small step.

One shared moment.

One grocery trip at a time.

You’ve made it a thing now. The dinners.

Not formal, not planned far ahead, just a rhythm slowly settling between you. You cook; she eats. Sometimes you talk. Sometimes you sit in comfortable silence.

Tonight, you notice she’s quieter than usual.

You watch her as she picks at her plate. Eyes distant.

You don’t push.

Not yet.

Instead, you refill both your glasses and sit back. Letting the space between you fill with the sound of your quiet breathing and the city humming outside.

After a while, she looks up.

“Did you… want to hear something?”

You nod, heart thudding.

She breathes in, slow and steady.

“My dad died… about a month before Barça called me.”

Her voice is soft, but steady.

“That call... it was everything I ever wanted. The dream.”

She swallows hard, eyes flickering.

“My mom told me to go. Said I had to go. That he’d want me to.”

You reach out, but she shakes her head. Almost smiling sadly.

“But my sister… she saw it differently.”

Her fingers curl around the fork. Tightening.

“She said I was running away. That I didn’t care about him or her.”

Her voice breaks just a little.

“I think… maybe she hates me for leaving.”

You don’t say anything, because what could you say?

Instead, you reach across the table and gently touch her hand.

She doesn’t pull away.

And maybe... for the first time, she lets some of the loneliness out.

You squeeze her hand softly. Hoping she knows you’re there.

No words needed.

Just presence.

You still can’t cook without a minor disaster, but the ritual has grown on you.

Thursday night. You get home before Alexia. Open windows to let the apartment breathe and start something simple that smells like effort. Garlic sizzling, tomatoes stewing, a loaf of bread warming in the oven. She’ll arrive from training hungry and tired. You like the idea that warmth meets her at the door.

It’s almost seven when the knock comes. Earlier than usual. You wipe your hands on a dish towel. Already smiling. But when you open the door it isn’t Alexia.

The woman on the landing is small. Brisk silver strands threaded through chestnut hair. Same hazel eyes. Softer around the corners. She holds a cloth tote and an umbrella still speckled with rain.

“Perdona,” she begins. Accent rich and familiar. “Alexia no está?”

You blink, switch mental gears. “She’s… still at training. I think. Did you want to come in and wait?”

She sighs. Half-laughs at herself. “Ay, claro. Se me olvidó su horario.”

Her disappointment is gentle. Practiced. You feel it brush past you like a draft.

“I’m her...” You falter. Neighbor? Friend? Almost lover? Keeper of Thursday night dinners? None of the words fit neatly. “I live across the hall.”

“Eres la vecina,” she nods with a soft smile. “Me llamo Eli. Soy la madre de Ale.”

She offers her hand. It’s warm, calloused. The kind of hand that’s done a lot of caretaking.

You step back automatically. “Would you like to wait inside? She should be back soon.”

She hesitates. Politeness warring with concern. Then steps inside. The umbrella drips quietly by the door.

Your apartment smells of tomato and oregano. Eli inhales, visibly surprised. “¿Estás cocinando?”

“Trying to,” you murmur, cheeks warming. “It’s… kind of our Thursday thing.”

Her brows lift. Equal parts amused and touched. But she just nods and takes a seat at the table. Resting her tote gently down.

You hover for a moment. Uncertain what to do with someone’s mother in your kitchen. So you fall into your fallback plan. Feed the silence. You stir the sauce again. Slice more bread than necessary, and try not to stare when she scans the room. Your books left open. Your clumsy knife technique.

“Has estado cuidando de ella?” she asks softly.

You shrug, slicing another piece. “We’ve been… keeping each other company.”

She nods, eyes softening. “Eso ayuda. Comer juntas cura más de lo que parece.”

You don’t reply. But your hands move more gently after that. Somehow, the small comment quiets you in a good way.

A key scrapes the hallway lock. You gave your spare one to her. You had forgotten already. Quick footsteps. A gear bag thunked against the wall. Then her voice: “Mamá?”

You meet Alexia in the doorway before she can panic. She’s fresh from training. Skin damp. Cheeks flushed. Her shirt clinging at the collar. When she sees her mother seated at your kitchen table. Her face crumbles for a second. Caught off guard.

“Pensaba que llegarías más tarde,” she says. Stepping in quickly.

“Me equivoqué,” Eli says with a small smile.

Alexia looks at you then, almost apologetic. “We can skip dinner if it’s too much...”

But she trails off when she sees the table. Three plates. A pot still steaming. Bread folded in a towel.

You shrug. “It’s tradition now, right?”

Her expression softens. Tired, grateful. “No rompamos la tradición.”

While Alexia showers, you and Eli ferry the dishes to Alexia's apartment. She insists on it, mumbling something about her place finally needing to smell like food.

The apartment’s still not quite lived-in. Boxes, a rug still rolled up in a corner but the photo on the shelf catches your eye. Two girls, arms tight around each other. A beach in the background. The hair shorter. The smiles wider.

Dinner starts a little stiff. Elisabet asks about training. Alexia responds in short bursts. Distracted by her water glass. You offer small talk about your classes. About the weather. About the neighbor upstairs who seems to always be vacuuming at night. Anything to ease the edges.

But eventually, things soften. Alexia tells a story about a teammate’s terrible playlist in the locker room. You laugh. Eli laughs, too, hand over her mouth. And for a while, it’s easy.

Then Eli glances at the photo on the shelf, and you watch Alexia’s spine straighten almost imperceptibly.

“Cómo está Alba?” she asks, quieter now.

“Está… todavía enojada,” Eli replies gently. “Necesita tiempo.”

Alexia’s jaw tightens. She looks down at her plate. “¿Y si nunca…?”

She doesn’t finish the thought. You don’t push her to.

You tear a piece of bread in two and place half on her plate. She glances up. Meets your eyes just long enough for something unspoken to settle between you.

Eli reaches across the table, hand covering Alexia’s.

“Lo arreglarán,” she says. “Tu padre estaría orgulloso de ti, Ale.”

Alexia doesn’t cry. But you can feel her holding it back like it’s breaking against the walls inside her.

You don’t say anything. You just pour more water. Give her space to breathe.

Eventually, dinner ends. Eli yawns behind her hand, and Alexia insists on walking her to the taxi. At the door, she turns to you.

“Gracias por todo,” Eli says, and hugs you with surprising strength. You hug her back. Quietly floored.

You wait on the couch until the door clicks again. Alexia walks in, still damp from the night air. Eyes a little red.

“Sorry if that was weird,” she says. Rubbing her hands over her face.

“It wasn’t weird,” you reply gently. “It was dinner.”

She gives a soft laugh. “Thanks… for keeping it going.”

You smile. “Tradition.”

She stands there a second, watching you with something unreadable behind her tired expression.

“You make things less hard,” she murmurs. Almost like it slips out before she can filter it.

Your heart stumbles, caught off guard. But you nod, soft. “You do, too.”

She walks you to the door. Neither of you says it, but you both feel it. That something is shifting. Not in a rush. But slowly. Trust making its way through the cracks.

“Next week,” she says, almost teasing now, “I’m cooking.”

You laugh as you step into the hall. “God help us both.”

The door clicks behind you. You stand still a moment, breathing. Then lean back against your side of the wall, wondering if she’s doing the same just a few feet away.

The ritual holds.

Thursday dinners continue.

And beneath it, something steady is growing. Not fast. Not flashy. But real.

At first, you tell yourself she’s just tired. First weeks on a new team. Endless drills. Media obligations. You stir your pasta with one hand. Phone face-up beside the cutting board. Waiting for her name to flash. But it doesn’t.

The days after her mother’s visit stretch out strange and quiet.

You don’t see her in the hallway. No knocks. No text.

No Thursday dinner.

You think about checking in, more than once. But you don’t want to crowd her. And still... when you lie down at night, the quiet through the shared wall feels different. Heavier. Not just absence but something heavier beneath it.

Until Saturday night.

It’s late. You’re curled on the couch with a book you’ve been pretending to read for an hour. The streetlamp casting long shadows across your floor.

Then you hear it.

Muffled. Familiar now in the worst way. Crying.

At first you freeze. It’s not loud. Not the gasping kind but it’s raw. Choked. Like someone trying not to break and failing anyway. You sit up slowly. Heart already crawling up your throat.

You wait... ten seconds, maybe thirty. But it doesn’t stop.

And then you’re on your feet.

There’s no answer, but you hear movement inside. Bare feet on tile, the low creak of a door opening.

You cross the hallway barefoot, knock once. Soft, unsure. Nothing.

Then again, firmer.

When it finally swings open, Alexia’s eyes are red. She doesn’t try to hide it. Doesn’t apologize. She just looks at you like she isn’t sure if she should speak or collapse.

“I’m sorry,” she says and it comes out broken.

You shake your head. “Don’t be. I just... I heard you.”

A pause. Then she steps back, opens the door wider. “Come in.”

The apartment is dim. Lit only by the glow from the kitchen window. There’s a half-folded hoodie on the floor. A photo frame face-down on the table. Her voice catches as she tries to explain.

“I just… I didn’t want you to see me like...”

You close the door behind you gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

She falls into you.

And then, without thinking, you do something stupid and brave.

You reach out. You think she might pull away. That she’ll shrug it off or pretend it’s nothing. But instead...

No warning. No sound. Just collapses forward. Arms around your waist. Face buried into your shoulder. The sob that rips out of her is the kind that’s been waiting days. You hold her tighter.

She doesn’t let go.

You don’t either.

You feel her whole body tremble. Hands gripping the back of your shirt. Hair damp at your neck. It goes on for minutes. Maybe hours. Time suspends when grief is involved.

And all the while, you whisper nothing. Just hold her. Anchor her. Let her know she isn’t alone in this echo.

When her crying finally slows. Throat raw, breath uneven. She pulls back just enough to look at you.

“I have my first match tomorrow,” she whispers.

You nod. “Barça?”

She nods once, then looks away. Her voice drops to something so small it barely exists. “Él no estará.”

Your chest tightens.

“My dad,” she adds, like she needs to clarify, though she doesn’t. “He’d been waiting for it since I was twelve. Said the day I wore that jersey for real, he’d… he’d cry right in the stands.”

She laughs once, bitter and quiet. “Now I’m the only one crying.”

You brush a strand of hair behind her ear. Careful like touching glass. “He’d be proud. You know that, right?”

She shrugs. “It’s not the same.”

You want to say something. Anything. But some pain doesn’t have words. So you settle for the truth. Quiet but full.

“I’ll be there.”

She looks at you. Startled.

“I promised myself,” you say. More to her than to you now. “The first time you wear that jersey… someone who gives a damn should be watching.”

Her lip trembles. You think she might cry again. But instead, she nods.

“Okay.”

She walks you to the door slowly. As if time has started again but neither of you are ready for it.

“Get some sleep,” you say softly.

She nods again. Then... just before the door closes... she reaches for your hand. Squeezes once. Not needing to say thank you because the squeeze says it all.

You walk back across the hall with your heart full and aching.

Tomorrow, she will wear the colors she’s dreamed of.

Tomorrow, her father won’t be there.

But you will.

And maybe, just maybe, that will be enough. For now.

You don’t even like football.

That’s what you tell yourself. Walking toward the stadium early. hands deep in your jacket pockets and heart pulsing like it’s tied to something bigger than nerves.

You’re not sure what you expected. Myaybe an echo chamber of people, maybe it would make you feel like you were intruding on something too sacred. But instead it feels oddly… tender.

The kind of day where the sky holds a little too much light Like it hasn’t decided whether to be spring or grief. You walk with the slow trickle of fans entering early and you sit low in the stands. Close enough to see expressions. To feel the weight of the anthem when it rolls across the pitch like a held breath.

You don’t know which number is hers. But then she steps out.And you know. Of course you know.

She doesn’t look at the crowd. Not right away. She walks with her head high and her shoulders back, but there’s something in her arms. Her gait. The tension in her mouth that says: I’m holding something in.

Her teammates greet her. A few smiles. One ruffle of her hair. And the anthem begins.

Then she turns. Looks up toward the stands. Scanning.

And for one brief second... your heart in your throat... her eyes land on you.

She doesn't wave. Doesn't smile. But she sees you. And it’s enough.

You don't cheer like everyone else. You just press your hands into your thighs and let the music rise through your ribs like something that belongs to someone else. And all the while, you keep watching her.

She's good. Of course she is. Fluid, fast, intentional. You don’t understand half the movements but you understand the look on her face. The focus. The weight. The ache she carries with her every step.

You glance a few seats to your left and recognize her mother instantly. Eli small and straight-backed in her seat. And next to her, someone else: younger, sharper-edged. Her sister?

She has Alexia’s eyes.

They both sit still through most of the game. Hands tense. They don't cheer wildly. They just watch. Like it costs them something.

The game ends 2-1. Alexia doesn’t score but she assists the second goal. A perfect pass that splits the defense like glass. The stadium erupts.

But she doesn’t smile.

Not even after the whistle. Just stands still. Breathing hard. Chest rising under the crest of the shirt she always wanted. She turns toward the stands again.

You watch it happen like a private moment made public. Something cracks. And then she walks... jogs... across the field. Past her coach. Past her teammates. Straight toward the edge of the barrier.

And her face changes when she sees them. Her mother.

Her sister.

Her sister is already on her feet.

You think you see her hesitate. Just for a second.

Then Alba leans down. Arms open.

And Alexia folds into her like she was always meant to.

Her shoulders shake. Her hands cling to her sister’s back. And the sob she lets out. Raw and shaking. Makes you forget there’s anyone else in the stadium at all.

You see Alba pull her closer. You can't hear them. But you imagine it.

Lo siento. Lo siento. Estoy aquí.

Her mother presses a hand to her mouth. Wipes her cheek. Doesn't interrupt.

You don’t move. You don’t look away.

Because this... this moment... is everything.

It’s not the dream she planned. Her father isn’t there to cry in the stands. But her sister is. Her mother is. You are.

And maybe that’s enough. Maybe grief is something that never stops echoing. but on some days, it finds harmony.

When she finally steps back, her face blotched and red and so alive, she lifts her head again. Scans.

Finds you.

And this time, she nods.

Not a wave. Not a smile. Just that.

A single, quiet, thank you. Shared across a stadium full of noise.

You stay seated even as people start to leave. Your chest hurts in the way that means something changed.

You showed up.

And so did she.

And though you don’t say it aloud, you know in your gut.

This is only the beginning.

You hear the knock late.

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment again. Bowl of microwaved leftovers abandoned beside you. TV remote untouched. You didn’t even change after coming back from the stadiu. Just tossed your jacket off. Kicked your shoes halfway across the room and sat down like the match had left too much in you to do anything else.

So when she knocks. Soft. Hesitant. Your body knows it’s her before your brain does.

You open the door.

She’s still in her training gear. The Barça crest still pressed to her chest. Her cheeks are pink like she never let the adrenaline fade. Her hair’s tied back and messy. She looks...

Tired.

And something else, too.

You don’t say anything. Just step aside.

She walks in slow. Doesn’t sit. Just stands in the middle of the room like she’s not sure if she came here for food or air or something heavier.

Finally, she speaks.

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

You nod, gently. “You’re not.”

She turns, slowly. Looks at you in that way she’s done a few times now. Eyes raw. Guarded. Vulnerable and unreadable at the same time. “My mom and Alba went back already. I didn’t ask them to stay. I don’t know why.”

“You don’t have to know why,” you say.

She exhales like it’s a surrender.

Then sits, slowly, on the edge of your couch. Silent.

You follow. Curl up opposite her. Not touching. Not crowding. Just near.

“It meant everything,” she says. Eyes not quite meeting yours, “that you were there.”

You nod. “I told you I would be.”

Alexia looks at her hands. Turns her wrist over like there’s something she needs to read there. “I thought I would feel proud today.”

“You didn’t?”

She hesitates. “I did. But I also...” Her voice catches. “I just kept thinking. He missed it. He missed me. And I... I think maybe I’ve been angry at him for that.”

Silence. You let it exist.

Then...

“I think that’s okay,” you say, careful. “To be angry.”

She swallows. “And with Alba too. She needed me to grieve with her and I... left. I left to chase a dream. And I don’t even know if I did the right thing.”

“You did the brave thing,” you say. “You didn’t run from it. You carried it with you.”

She blinks hard. Doesn’t cry this time. But there’s something else in her face. Like the edge of a decision she’s been circling around for weeks.

Then she leans forward. Eyes suddenly locked on yours. “I don’t want to feel this alone anymore.”

Her voice breaks open on the word alone. And suddenly, everything you’ve been pretending to ignore for weeks rushes forward like a breath held too long.

You don’t think. You don’t plan. You just shift closer. Knees brushing. Palms against the couch cushion between you. You wait.

“I’ve been so afraid,” she whispers.

You nod. “Me too.”

And then she leans in.

Not rushed. Not dramatic. Not a crash. But a slow, trembling choice. Her eyes flutter closed just before her lips find yours. Soft, careful, questioning.

You kiss her back.

Not because you’d planned to.

But because you couldn’t not.

Her hand brushes your jaw. Your fingers find the side of her leg. It’s slow. Like you’re both afraid to wake something fragile.

When you pull back, her forehead rests against yours. You both stay like that for a breath. Two.

Then she says, “I don’t know what this is.”

You smile... small and full. “It doesn’t have to be anything yet.”

She leans back. Eyes still on you. “But I want it to be something.”

You let that settle in the space between you. Like a promise. Like an answer to a question you’d never asked out loud.

Outside, the world is quiet. Barcelona holds its breath.

Inside, she leans into you again. This time not for a kiss, but to rest her head on your shoulder. A small surrender. A bigger beginning.

You reach for her hand... and this time... she doesn’t let go.

The walls here are thick. Solid.

They don’t echo voices. Or carry the sounds of late-night crying through plaster. They don’t creak when someone shifts their weight on the other side. They don’t hum with loneliness.

And you both notice.

You joked about it once. Early on. Standing in the empty living room with a cheap pizza box on the floor and keys in your hand. Alexia had walked from room to room like a kid in a museum. Barefoot and wide-eyed. Until she leaned in behind you and whispered, “Now we can finally discover each other without paper-thin walls, eh?”

She had kissed your neck afterward. And then the joke was less funny and more true.

It’s been two years since that first knock on your door.

Since cereal and grief and quiet Thursday dinners that turned into lifelines. Since that first Barça match where she found you in the crowd before she found her family in the front row. Since the night she whispered, “I don’t want to feel this alone anymore,” and your world split open.

Now?

Now, you have your own mugs lined up in the kitchen cabinet. One has the Barça crest on it. The other is chipped and plain but always ends up in her hand anyway. There’s a bike leaning against the hallway wall she keeps saying she’ll fix. A laundry basket overflowing in your bedroom and two passports tucked into a drawer with the little ticket stub from your first trip to Ibiza.

Alexia is thriving.

She walks through the door most nights with grass still clinging to her socks and a smile that tells you how training went before she even speaks. Her English is sharper now, more confident but she still mumbles through early mornings and sometimes mixes up your shampoo with hers.

You finished your studies a few months ago. Your degree hangs beside the kitchen calendar. Crooked because neither of you are handy but perfect anyway. You work full-time now. Something stable. Something good. And most evenings when you both get home, you drop your bags in the same corner and say the same thing:

“Hey. You okay?”

And the answer, more often than not, is yes.

Some days are still heavy. Grief doesn’t leave completely. It lingers, soft-edged and familiar. But Alexia talks to her sister now. They’ve built something new. Not the same as before but strong in its own way. Her mother visits more, too. She still brings flan and always kisses your cheek twice like she’s known you longer than she has.

You think about how far you’ve both come, sometimes. Especially on nights like this.

She’s curled up on the couch. Your legs tangled with hers. A match replay humming low on the TV in the background. You’re half-watching her more than the game. The way her brow still furrows when she watches herself play. The way her fingers drum against your ankle like she can’t not touch you, even unconsciously.

You lean into her shoulder.

She turns, soft-eyed, and murmurs, “Sabes qué?”

You smile, lazy. “¿Qué?”

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just brushes her thumb across your knee, gaze lingering.

Then, quietly:

“Gracias por quedarte.”

You close your eyes, just for a second, breathing it in. Her voice. Her presence. This place that is now yours.

“I never wanted to be anywhere else,” you say.

And you mean it. In every room of this home. In every part of this life you’ve built slow and true. You mean it.

Outside, the city moves on. The world spins.

But here... with thick walls, warm skin, and all the time in the world... you stay.

Together.

[mountttmase]

What I Need

Note - the longest fic I’ve ever written 😭 I’ve added a little ‘break’ halfway through so if you did want to stop and come back to read the rest later it’s easier to see where you’ve left off but if you want to read it all in one go feel free 🩷 thank you @carlottawllms for the initial request and I’m sorry it took so long to get to 😭 and thank you to all my besties for your help with this, I couldn’t do it without you 🩷 I know it’s long but feedback would be appreciated immensely and I promise to never write a fic this long again 😌

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 20.5k

Warnings - angst and fluff

Just once you thought you might be treated to a well deserved lie in this Saturday but unfortunately the universe had other plans for you, just like always.

Your phone had been vibrating for a few minutes on the nightstand and you knew it was someone trying to call you before a barrage of texts were sent your way. Letting them fly in before you picked your phone up to see who it was and what they wanted even though you knew exactly who it was and why they were pestering you at this ungodly hour.

You already make it feel like it’s not worth living you thought, but before you could think about anything else his photo flashed up on your screen as he tried to call you again and you begrudgingly hit accept before you were permanently etched into his bad books.

‘Hello?’

‘About bloody time y/n, what the hell have you been doing?’ He scolded you. His voice hushed but you could tell he wanted to shout at you for not picking up and you rolled your eyes at his stupid attitude that you didn’t need this time of the morning.

‘Sleeping, Mason. You know what probably most of the uk population is doing right now since it’s stupid o’clock on a bloody Saturday’

‘Well I don’t give a shit, I need you. How fast do you think you can get here?’

‘I don’t know, Mase-‘ you started, not ready to leave the comfort of your bed just yet but he was cutting you off as soon as he realised what you were about to say.

‘No, y/n don’t do this. Did you not see my message? Code red yeah, that means I need you here now’

‘I’m sure it’s not that bad, you big girls blouse’

‘She’s offering to make me breakfast. Pancakes if you please’ he told you, his voice an octave higher as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying to you and you had to hold in a giggle at how ridiculous he sounded.

‘You love pancakes’

‘No I love your pancakes, there's a difference. I don’t know what she puts in hers she could drug me for all I know. Or make the whole wheat ones like a maniac’

‘I mean it’s hard to fuck up pancakes im sure they’re-‘

‘Can we forget about the bloody pancakes, how long till you’re here?’ He demanded, but you were already up and pulling a hoodie on before stuffing yourself into your shoes.

‘I’ll be five minutes’ you sighed, grabbing your keys and walking out the door as Mason repeatedly told you to hurry up until you had to hang up as you began to drive.

How it became the routine of you bailing him out of these situations was a long story.

Mason had been your best friend since you were little. Your dad being one of his first football coaches and even though you went to separate primary schools you still saw him most weekends when you helped out and sometimes joined in with the games. Mason teaching you how to kick the ball properly and you knew when you scored your first goal he let you win.

You eventually stopped going to practice, not seeing Mason at all for a year or so until you both wound up going to the same secondary school and it’s like you picked up where you left off.

You watched each other grow from awkward little teenagers to full grown adults and as much as you tried to keep your friendship the same you knew it would never be normal.

You went the usual route; college, uni, big office job in a fancy company while Mason lived his dreams and changed right before your eyes. Subtle changes that came over time meaning you never really caught onto them but the shy polite boy you once knew was gone.

He was cocky and sure of himself. Cheeky in a way that all the girls loved and he used it to his advantage to get exactly what he wanted. You weren’t blind, you know he was handsome but the way he threw his money and looks about just to get into some poor girls knickers made you sick sometimes but you stuck by him through it all. Feeling like you were the only person who had his best interest at heart most of the time.

Mason didn’t have friends, he had yes men. People to tell him he looked good and that it didn’t matter what he did or what he said to people because they’d clear it up for him afterwards. Leaving his picture perfect image intact so the world still thought he was a good boy even though he was anything but.

You didn’t know when, but you too had fallen into that category. Running around after him like he was a toddler that had just learned to walk, trying to protect him from crashing into things he shouldn’t be and picking up all of his mess after him for little to no thanks. You didn’t even know why you did it at this point. A sense of loyalty maybe? Or wanting to keep him away from certain people that you knew only used him. You knew he was a grown man at the end of the day and he was old enough to look after himself but still you carried on.

Even the routine of helping him kick girls out of his house was a mystery to you. The first time was a mistake when you’d turned up heartbroken on his doorstep after a failed exam and the girl he’d managed to score that night made a swift exit much to his satisfaction. Telling you he’d been trying to get rid of her for an hour but she wouldn’t budge and you were the perfect solution.

When he called you up and asked if you could do something similar for him the next week you refused at first. Thinking it was weird and you were worried about the girls feelings but he wore you down like he always did until the next thing you knew you were fake crying on his door mat as he ushered a pretty blonde girl out the door with the fake promise of calling her back later that day.

You must have helped him throw at least 30 girls out now. A catalogue of excuses at your disposal and even though you knew it was weird, it had merged itself in as just another part of your friendship and soon enough you were pulling onto his drive and housing yourself out of your car.

You rang the doorbell to make it look more realistic, the door opening a few moments later to Mason who looked more than relieved to see you and you quickly made your way inside to start the act.

‘What do you want? Dead relative, dog or something worse?’ You asked him, pinching your cheeks so they looked pinker before squirming yourself in the eyes with your water bottle. You’d tried and tested the lot but the sports cap you found was the best at making it look like actual tears.

‘Dogs fine, she’s been yapping on about hers all morning and showing me pictures so-‘

‘You’re so cruel, Mason’ you remarked, hoping to make him feel a little bit bad about what he was doing but you knew it was all in vain. He never did.

‘Just start crying before I make you, yeah?’ He laughed so you took the opportunity to get him back and wailed out the loudest fake cry you could muster right in his ear. The sound making him jump before he bounded you into his arms so you could cry into his neck and before you knew it, the sound of a very concerned but sweet sounding woman could be heard in the hallway.

‘Mason? Is everything okay?’

‘No really no’ he told her, the fake worry in his voice making you roll your eyes but you carried on sniffling to help him out. ‘This is my best friend and she’s had some awful news this morning’ he told her, walking you towards the living room so he could sit you on the sofa. ‘I’m really sorry to do this, her dogs just died and she needs me’

‘Oh my god’

‘Yeah she’s really not in a good way’ he confirmed, pulling you in closer and your cries went up in volume and you felt him pinch your side gently as if to tell you to tone it down.

‘Well can I help at all?’ She offered and you actually felt a little sorry for her. She seemed too sweet and you wondered how Mason had got his grubby little claws into her but you’d seen him on nights out and knew how he trapped women under his spell. You were just thankful that you were immune to his powers as if someone treated you like this you’d swing for them.

‘I think it’s best I just stay with her for now, but I’ll text you yeah? I’ve got your number saved?’

‘Oh, yeah okay then’ she uttered before the pair of them fled upstairs to get her things and within a few minutes he was with her at the door. Hearing the talk in hushed tones before he shut the door behind her but you let your cries continue.

‘Alright you can stop that now, sound makes my brain ache’ he groaned as she flopped down onto the sofa next to you and you laughed as you unhid your face from the cushion.

‘You’re welcome, by the way’ you told him. Bumping your shoulder into his as you sat up but he just rolled his eyes. You knew he was thankful even if he didn’t say it exactly but it would be nice to hear it sometime.

‘You fancy some breakfast? I’m in the mood for pancakes’ he winked but you just rolled your eyes at him. Pancakes sounded good to you too but you knew you’d be stuck making them.

‘Where’s Ace? He’s the only reason I’m here’ you asked, deflecting his question as you knew what he was asking and by the look he was giving you he wasn’t too happy about it.

‘Charming’ he scoffed before whistling and the sound of bounding paws made you smile until Ace was running in and jumping into your lap.

‘Hi baby’ you cooed, scratching over his head and trying to avoid the face licks he was sending your way but Mason was just looking at you like he was waiting for something.

‘So… what’s happening with the pancakes?’

‘Ace, your daddy is a very silly man, did you know that?’ You babbled but you could tell Mason was offended with what you’d said.

‘Don’t turn my son against me’

‘Do you want some pancakes, acey? Mumma will make you some’ you babbled too him, knowing there was no way for him to answer but from the look on his face you could that’s what he wanted.

‘Since when are you his mum’ Mason commented, trying to reach over to pet him but you wouldn’t let him. Jumping up so Ace could follow you and he just sighed and rolled his eyes.

‘Since I’m one of the only stable females in his life, okay? Don’t confuse him now’

You left Mason in the living room so you could make some pancakes. Your own belly rubbing as you hadn’t had a chance to think about breakfast this morning but thankfully he had everything in and as soon as he smelt them you heard him walking in to grab some.

‘Why are you making little ones?’ He questioned, grabbing some juice from the fridge and a couple of glasses.

‘They’re for ace’ you shrugged. Plating them up in his little doggy bowl and letting him tuck in before sorting yours and Masons out.

‘So he gets preferential treatment’

‘Do you ever have a day off?’ You muttered, wanting him to just give things a rest for five minutes but you could tell by his laugh he wouldn’t be letting up anytime soon.

‘Shut up, you love me’ he teased, poking you in the sides as he grabbed his plate and the feel of it angered you. He knew you hated being poked and prodded but he just carried on as he loved getting under your skin.

‘Not when you’re like this I don’t’ you sighed and even though you were half joking you had realised over the last few times you’d hung out that being around him was a chore sometimes. His usual playful comments had more venum behind them and now you couldn’t actually work out if he still liked you or not. Being around him never felt as good as it used to but whenever you got upset about it he’d tell you he was playing so you tried to think nothing more of it. Wondering if you were just hormonal or had forgotten how to take a joke.

Halfway through breakfast your thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. His eyes looking at you pleadingly as if he wanted you to go and get it but you remained firm and stared back at him.

‘Please, y/n. If it’s her she’ll have me talking for another half an hour. Just make her go away please’

‘Fine’ you huffed, getting up and storming to the door and you knew he was smiling from where he sat behind you. ‘I’m not doing the washing up though’

‘Hey, you make the mess you tidy it away’

‘Oh get lost’ you muttered under your breath, opening the door to what you expected to me the girl from earlier but thankfully it was just an Amazon delivery guy and you took the parcel with a smile before bidding him goodbye. ‘Mase? Its just an Amazon parcel you’re safe’

‘Ah amazing, can you open it for me? Should be just a charging cable’ he nodded as he stacked your plates and took them to the dishwasher, leaving you on your own to tear the box open but once you were in you wanted to vanish into thin air.

What you weren’t expecting was the red box that was sitting under the packing paper. The words thin feel jumping out at you first and you groaned loudly as he walked back over to you with a confused expression.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘You’re gross, I swear to god. Why did you make me open this?’ You huffed as you threw the box of condoms his way and he caught it with one hand before looking down with a smile.

‘Ah i forgot about these, got the ribbed ones this time to see if they make a difference’ he winked but you just made fake gagging noises as you walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room where he followed you in shortly after. Thankfully hiding the box out of sight from you.

‘What you doing next Friday? It’s Woody’s birthday so we’re going out and he asked me to ask if you wanna come’ he suddenly piped up with as you turned the tv on and the question took you by surprise.

‘Why didn’t he ask me himself?’

‘Cause he thinks you’re scary’ he winked ‘I’m kidding, he was pretty out of it last night when we made plans and he knew I’d probably see this morning’

‘So now it’s just standard that I kick the girls out your house for you? And all your friends know about it’

‘Pretty much. I’ve given you excellent reviews so if you get calls for similar from the others you can thank me later’ he teased but you weren’t in the mood to argue with him anymore. Huffing as you relaxed back into the sofa but he was soon poking your leg with his finger. ‘You coming next week or what? We’ve got a section booked so there won’t hundreds of people and you don’t know I’ll pay for you’

‘I’m not worried about paying, Mase’ you told him even though in the back of your mind you were a little bit. Mason like to go to the most expensive places and drink the most expensive things and you couldnt keep up with him half the time so the offer of him playing always settled your nerves when it was nights out like this. ‘Can I bring Olivia?’

‘Who’s Olivia?’

‘That new girl from work I was telling you about the other day? The one that’s just moved here and doesn't know anyone’ you told him before realising he probably hadn’t been listening the whole time you were talking about her before.

‘Is she hot?’

‘Mason-‘

‘Im kidding, I’m kidding, You can bring the pope for all I care’ he shrugged but you knew even if you asked him not to go near her he still would.

‘Mason I'm serious, I don’t want you anywhere near her okay? you’ll make things awkward at work and she wouldn’t touch you with with a barge pole anyway’

‘Wow y/n, I’m bruised’ he told you, hand on his heart to make it look like he was hurt but you could tell from the tone of his voice he didn’t care.

‘She’s got something going on with someone at work and if you ruin it I’ll kill you’ you threatened but he just held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Who else is gonna be there?’

‘Oh the usual’ he told you. Reeling off some names you knew plus a few guys you don’t know and you knew what that meant. Mason wanted to try and set you up with someone he knew and even though you appreciate the sentiment you couldn’t think of anything worse.

At this point you thought he just felt sorry for you and was trying his hardest to find you anyone. You’d never had a boyfriend, never been in a real relationship or even been on that many dates. Any you did happen to go on always ended in the same way with that same awful message. I see you more as a friend than a girlfriend but I’d love to stay in touch and you didn’t know what was wrong with you. Even though Mason sometimes tried to help, you didn’t want to attract boys like him and his friends so any new boy he was suggesting you almost always never gave a proper chance.

‘I was thinking maybe I could put some feelers out? You know put a good word in with a few of the lads and see if any are interested-‘

‘I’d rather eat my own eyeballs than date one of your friends’ you told him, looking up to his horrified face and just like usual you kept poking the bear. ‘I only hang out with you cause you’re practically my brother, but the ones that choose to be your friends? I have serious questions for them’

‘And yet here you are, spending your morning with me. The main culprit’

‘Not for much longer, I’m meeting the guys at level up for lunch’ you smiled and he rolled his eyes in annoyance at you.

‘So you used me for my flour and eggs, that’s what I’m getting from this’

‘I wouldn’t even be here if you could just keep it in your pants for five seconds’ you reminded him, giving Ace a quick scratch between the ears before you stood up so you could get going but Mason being Mason had to get a few more digs in.

‘Oh whatever you big dork. Go play with your silly little puzzles then while I fend for myself’

Level Up was a gaming cafe in town and you met up with some friends from uni once a month to catch up and play some games but you mostly went there for the puzzles. There was something you loved about starting with a big pile of nothing and ending with something beautiful. It calmed you but almost made your brain feel alive at the same time so it was worth the teasing from Mason's end even if he did think it made you really uncool.

‘Whatever, Mase’ you mumbled, gathering your stuff up and making your way to the door before he could say anything else to upset you but you already felt like he’d ruined your day.

You managed to forget about him by the time you’d made it to Level Up. Catching up with your friends from uni, forgetting all that had happened that morning and getting lost in what you loved before making your way back home in the early afternoon. Feeling a lot better about yourself than you had that morning.

Your week at work flew by and soon enough it was Friday and you were at your flat with Olivia getting ready for your night out. Thankfully she’s said yes to coming and it had given you something to bond over that week. She too had moved to Manchester from down south after uni and was finding the transition a bit strange so you’d taken her under your wing in hopes you could make some more friends around here besides Mason. As much as you loved him you couldn’t stand to be around him for long periods of time anymore and wanted someone else to hang out with who didn’t make you feel so awful about yourself.

Once the pair of you were ready you set out for a cocktail bar first. Getting a few fancy pre drinks in whilst you chatted over some office gossip and just as you were leaving you posted a few stories to instagram. Seeing straight away that Mason had viewed them and almost as if by magic he was calling you.

‘Is that really what you’re wearing?’ He asked, the question making your heart drop as you looked down at your out outfit. Admittedly it was your usual but you wanted to be a bit comfortable and it was an outfit you’d always felt good in. His comments deflating you immediately and you felt like turning around and going home.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ You asked in a small voice. Wrapping your jacket around you a little bit further and Olivia looked at you with curious eyes but you just gave her a reassuring smile and carried on listening to Mason.

‘I mean it’s fine but like… well that’s it. It’s fine’ he admitted causing you to gulp back the frog in your throat so you didn’t burst into tears. ‘Look I’m trying my hardest here to help you get some but you need to start showing a bit of skin. Like if I’m interested in a girl I wanna see a bit more yeah? You need to advertise what you’ve got on offer or you’ll never get any business.’

‘I’m not looking for business and I certainly don’t want to look like someone you’re interested in’ you hit back, trying to make him hurt a little bit but you knew it was useless. Your comments were like water off a ducks back to him. ‘When I find the right guy he’ll love how I dress’

‘I’m a guy, y/n. We’re all the same’

‘Yeah well I’ve just about had enough of you tonight. I think I’d rather join a nunnery at this point’ you huffed, feeling Olivia tug on your arm as you made it to the door of the club. ‘Were just outside I’ll see you in a sec’

‘Your names on the door, they should just let you through’ he confirmed and once you’d said goodbye you were let in by the doorman who led you over to your section. meeting Mason's eyes almost immediately but his were soon on Olivia and you knew it was about to be a long night. ‘You gonna introduce me then?’

‘Hi to you too’ you quipped, watching him roll his eyes as he pulled you into his side for a quick hug but it was over before you knew it as his eyes settled on Olivia’s legs. ‘Mason this is Olivia, Olivia this is Mason’

‘Hi Olivia, y/n’s told me a lot about you’ he smiled and you knew that smile anywhere. He was about to flirt his little bum off even after you’d told him not too. ‘It's nice to finally meet you’

‘You too, thanks for letting me come’ she smiled sweetly, trying to be polite but you’d already warned her about Mason and his antics and you were hoping she could see right through him.

‘Oh you’re invited anytime’ he winked. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Oh um… yeah sure, y/n-‘

‘’It’s alright I know her order off by heart’ he winked before nodding her over to the bar where she followed him after giving you a quick wave.

You took this time to go and say happy birthday to Woody, one of Mason's friends you actually liked as he’d been around almost as long as you had but just like you had fallen into the trap of letting him get away with things he probably shouldn’t.

‘What’s wrong?’ He asked, noticing your disgruntled expression fairly quickly but you just sighed before rubbing your head.

‘I explicitly told Mason not to flirt with her but he’s all over her, I can't stand that boy sometimes’ you huffed, motioning over to where he was standing with Olivia. His hand on her back and his eyes on her chest and you heard Woody sigh next to you.

‘You know what he’s like, sees a pair of boobs and forgets all logic’ he tried to joke but you weren’t in the mood.

You could see Olivia looking for you, your eyes meeting after a few seconds where she gave you the ‘help me’ look and you made your way straight over to get her. Gripping Mason's shoulder as you popped yourself in between them and even though you weren’t looking at him you could feel the annoyance radiating off of him.

‘Thanks for the drink Mase, we’re gonna go have a dance’ you interrupted, not missing the way he rolled his eyes at you as he tried to speak again but you’d already pulled Olivia away and onto the dance floor where you were both giggling as you got lost in the crowd.

‘Corr he’s a right flirt, you weren’t joking we’re you’

‘Honestly he should come with a warning label’ you groaned. ‘I’m really sorry, I did tell him to keep it in his pants’

‘Don’t worry about it, it’s quite flattering’ she giggled before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. ‘Let’s just keep it between us, by the looks of things he’s already moved on’ she told you and once you looked around you could see him chatting up some other girl and you decided to leave him to it. Rolling your eyes before you and Olivia got lost in the crowd and danced your little socks off.

When Olivia needed the loo, you let her know you’d go and get the pair of you some more drinks and once at the bar you were ambushed by the man you’d been trying to avoid for the last hour.

‘Thanks for that earlier, you jumped in at the wrong time just as usual’ Mason exclaimed but you just turned to smile at him sweetly and the action caught him off guard.

‘No thank you, for completely ignoring me when I asked you not to flirt with her as she’s seeing someone and I didn’t want to make things awkward at work’ you reminded him but you noticed how he shut his eyes before looking back at you with a smirk and you knew he was about to get nasty.

‘So let me get this straight, Olivia’s been working with you for what, three weeks?’ He commented and his comment surprised you as you didn’t think he’d been listening to you that well whenever you spoke about her but clearly he had.

‘Just about, yeah’

‘And she’s already seeing someone?’

‘I mean it’s not official but-‘

‘So she can find someone… but you’ve been there years and-‘

‘Oh get fucked Mase’ you spat, your blood boiling at what he was trying to say and you had to restrain yourself from throwing the drinks that had just been placed infront of you in his face. Mason had just put them on his tab though and you didn’t want to have to pay for your own so you just balled your fists up and tried to let it wash over you. ‘Are you getting a kick out of being an arsehole to me tonight or something?’

‘I’m just pointing out-‘

‘Well don’t, keep your big nose out of my business’ you told him, cutting him off mid sentence but you knew your comments hadn’t hurt him. Nothing ever did.

‘Low blow, y/n. Low blow. You’re lucky I’m not self conscious about it as I know it comes in handy’ he teased. Licking his lips to insinuate something sexual and you felt the disgust roll through you. ‘Come on, let’s go sit. We’ve barely spoken all night’

‘No, I don’t want to’

‘Hey, don’t be like that’ he frowned, but you were done talking to him tonight and you’d have been quite happy to have a few days' break from him after tonight’s interactions.

‘I’m not being like anything’ you huffed, seeing Olivia coming back out from the loo and you used this as your opportunity to get away from him. ‘Olivia’s back, I need to go’ you told him but you didn’t wait for a reaction. Picking up your drinks and making your way over to her but you weren’t in the mood to be happy anymore.

You found a quiet corner with Olivia so you could sit and bitch for a bit, mostly about Mason but you moved onto the topic of people you didn’t like at work until she opened up about Joe from the IT department who she’d got the eyes for. Apparently they’d hit it off from the first day when he handed her her laptop and she’d been falling for him ever since. Sometimes making up issues and submitting tickets for non-existent problems so they could talk and even though you thought it was cute and you were happy for her, Mason's words from before were playing in your mind.

Why did things like this never happen to you? Why could everyone else find someone but you were forever stuck on the sidelines waiting to be picked. You were used to it now and you told yourself you were over it but there were moments like now when it stung and you didn’t want to think about anything anymore.

If truth be told you didn’t want to even be in this club anymore and when Olivia had to make a call you used the time to your advantage to try and find Mason to let him know you were going. Not that it would have made much difference to him as you’d barely spoken all night but when you made your way back to your section you knew something was off.

‘What’s everyone laughing at?’ You asked as you approached Woody and a few of the other boys. Woody's appearing awkward but you could see all the other boys were loving whatever was happening. ‘Where’s Mason?’

‘Trust me, you don’t wanna know’ one of the guys laughed but you were just confused as to what was happening.

‘What?’ You asked, turning towards Woody in hopes he’d give you a bit more of an answer but you could tell he didn’t want to. An embarrassed and guilty look on his face as you raised your brows at him until he eventually spoke.

‘He’s um, he’s in the loo’ Woody gulped but you didn’t understand what the issue was.

‘Okay?’

‘He’s not alone in there’ he whispered and the realisation hit you like a truck.

‘You’re joking? Please tell me you’re joking’ you whispered back, eyes flying around the room to see if anyone else had caught on but thankfully it was just his little gaggle of yes men that were in on it.

‘Well he didn’t exactly hide it’ Woody told you but before you could say anything else there was movement from the corner of your eye and you could see he was emerging from the disabled loo with a stupid smirk on his face and you felt sick to your stomach.

The boys were laughing louder immediately but all you felt was embarrassment. Embarrassed that he was your friend and he thought this was okay, embarrassed for whatever poor girl he’d taken in there and embarrassed that clearly everyone knew what was going on and he was just fine with it.

You watched him talk to security before coming back over to your section. The boys slapping his back before he tried to wrap an arm around your shoulder but you just shrugged him off as soon as he touched you. Not even bothering to look up at his disgruntled face as your eyes were trained on the where he’d just come from and before long the girl emerged.

You watched her walk over to the man Mason had just spoken to, Mason clearly telling her he’d put her name in the list for your section but you doubt he even knew her name in the first place and you felt awful as she looked around for Mason to let her in. You were on the edge of marching over there yourself and telling them to let her through but you didn’t want to cause more of a scene so you just turned to Mason who was looking at you with an amused grin.

‘Seriously, Mason? I know you clearly don’t give a shit but that’s such an awful thing to do’

‘Oh stop getting your knickers in a twist, it’s not like I fucked her’ he told you matter of factly an you gasped at the way he’d just spoken to you.

‘What?’

‘I mean I’ll spare you the details but let’s just say she took very good care of me’

‘Oh fuck off, I don’t wanna know that’ you told him, wrapping your arms around yourself as if you were trying to block him out but he kept laughing at you like he found the whole thing hilarious.

‘Oh y/n don’t be such a grump’ he laughed. ‘Maybe you should think about getting yourself a bit, hopefully they might be able to pull that stick out your arse’

Mason words cut you deep, and you knew he’d only said it as he was playing on your biggest insecurity but that made it worse somehow. You’d opened up to Mason a few times about how unlucky in love you felt you were, how you never seemed to grab anyone’s attention. You knew he tried to help on nights out sometimes but nothing ever worked and you weren’t as on board with one night stands as Mason so clearly was. You were the definition of a wallflower and as much as you knew you had a lot of love to give the right person you grew more worried day by day that it would never be a reality for you.

You knew your face had dropped, Mason’s too once he’d realised what he’d said and that he’d taken it too far but you refused to show how upset you were, not just by what he’d said but everything that had happened tonight.

‘You’re a right dick sometimes’ you told him quietly, picking your bag up and storming out. You could hear the faint sound of him scoffing behind you but you didn’t have the energy to turn around and berate him anymore. Your eyes already stinging and the sadness rippled over you but you held it together so you could get out the door and sort yourself an Uber out.

You wondered if he might have followed you outside to come and apologise right away but you knew that would never happen. As long as Mason was happy in Mason land he didn’t care what he did or said to anyone else and even though you thought you might have been the exception, that clearly wasn’t the case anymore.

‘Y/n? What are you doing out here?’ You heard, Turing to see Olivia walking over to you with a concerned expression but you just blinked the tears away and gave her a half hearted smile.

‘Just getting some air’ you smiled. ‘Listen, I’m so sorry about tonight. I didn’t realise he was gonna be such an arse’ you apologised but you could see from her face it was all fine and she didn't care.

‘It’s not your fault, yeah? You’re not responsible for him’ she told you and you felt lighter at her words until she gave you a look you couldn't quite place. ‘But please don’t hate me, I’ve just been on the phone to Joe and he’s invited me over. You don’t mind if I go, do you?’ She asked and even though it stung slightly you couldn't blame her. Not when you were on your way home too now.

‘Of course not, don't be silly’ you reassured her, thinking that might be the end of it but the sympathetic smile she gave you made you feel worse somehow.

‘Are you going back in?’

‘I think I might just head home, I’ve had enough of him tonight’ you joked but she knew she could tell there was an air of truth behind it.

‘Don’t let him ruin your night, why don’t you come with me?’ She offered but you just looked back at her in confusion.

‘What? To hang out with you and Joe? I don’t think he’ll be too happy with that’

‘Oh no he’s at a party at his friends house not too far from here, there’s a load of people there and a few from work so you’ll know a load of them’ she explained and the idea of it being more than just the two of them sweetened the deal a bit.

‘I don’t know’

‘Pleeeeeeease. Don’t let that horrible boy upset you, plus I’m not done hanging out with you yet. Mason aside I’ve had fun tonight’ she pouted and you felt your resolve slipping. ‘Come on, I’ll pay for the Uber and everything’

‘Okay fine’ you laughed. Jumping into the car with her when it turned up and you were only ten minutes into being there once you realised what a good choice you’d made. You never hung out with your colleagues outside of work but you had a lot of fun and even made some new friends. The whole experience teaching you that there was more to life than Mason and you made a promise to yourself to take a step back from him for your own sake.

You made it home at around 3am in a taxi with a friend of Joes who’d promised to get you home safely. You’d been talking for most of the night and it was a complete 180 from being with Mason. He made you feel important and heard and when he kissed you cheek at your front door you felt your knees wobble. You blamed it on the drink and being so touch starved but once your were inside you realised how much of a good time you’d had without Mason once more.

The constant fear of what he was going to say or do next, the need to clean up his mess that inevitably always came and the growing embarrassment that came from being around him was getting you down. All you could think about was a break from him and If truth be told you needed a break from everything at this point so made a mental note to book some time off of work for a little break now the weather was getting nicer to go and see your auntie in Spain as a little something to look forward too.

You’d seen Mason had text you a few hours ago. Wondering where you’d gone and to text him back but you left it. Not wanting to talk to him right now so you got undressed and got into bed so you could wait for the inevitable hangover in the morning.

It was 8am when you woke up and knew your phone was going off every few minutes but you ignored it, not in the mood for whoever it was and when you hadn’t received a text for a while you had a quick Look I see they were all from Mason.

You didn’t believe his empty threats, ignoring everything he’d written and rolling over onto your other side so you could get back to sleep and thankfully it came easily as you were still so exhausted. He could work things out for himself for one morning surely?

You were expecting your head to be pounding when you next woke up, but you’d never felt it like this before. Never heard it in your ears so intensely or heard your name being called over and over until you realised it wasn’t what you thought and when you recognised Mason's voice you groaned into your pillow.

‘Y/n! Are you in there?’ You heard him call. Hoping you could just ignore him and he’d go away but Mason being Mason didn’t let up. ‘Right I’ve not heard or seen you since last night, I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing so I’m calling the police’

‘Oh fuck off’ you huffed, storming out of bed in just your underwear and a tiny T-shirt so you could tell him off, watching Masons head snap up when you opened the door and you didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed all over you.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ You spat, pulling him inside and slamming the door shut before turning to face him with a furious glare. He was looking straight back at you the same way though and you’d never seen him so mad in all the years you’d known him.

‘Are you kidding me? What the fuck are you doing? Why are you ignoring me?’

‘Are you being serious right now?

‘Completely. And can you go and get dressed you freaking me out’ he remarked but you just placed your hands on your hips and made him look at you.

‘No I can’t’ you told him and you knew he wasn't comfortable with you standing there in next to nothing so you used it to your advantage. ‘You were awful to me last night Mason, I mean you’ve not been nice for a while but last night tipped me over the edge’

‘What did I do?’

‘What didn’t you do!’ You exploded, seeing him visibly jump as he wasn’t expecting it but you just kept going, releasing all the pent up aggression and anger he’d made you feel lately and you could feel the tears stinging behind your eyes. ‘You’re so rude about me, about the way I dress and just how I am. I told you specifically not to go near Olivia and you did. Not to mention that poor girl you used in the toilet, I take it she wasn’t the same girl you took home last?’

‘Well no but-‘

‘I just, I don’t like what you’re turning into and I’m not gonna sit by and watch it happen anymore so if you still want me around you need to fix up and fix up fast’

‘You can’t tell me what to do’ he scoffed, the playfulness he usually spoke at you with now completely vanished and you had a feeling deep in your tummy that this wasn’t going to end well yet you carried on.

‘Well if you carry on like this then I’m out Mason. I don’t wanna surround myself with you and the people you hang out with anymore’

‘Oh you thought… oh that’s hilarious’ he laughed, clutching his tummy like you’d just told him the funniest joke in the world. ‘You actually think I care if you don't wanna talk to me anymore? That I’d care if I upset you? You really think telling me that is gonna make me change? Get real y/n, we’re not 13 anymore’

‘What?’ you breathed, his words feeling like a punch in the gut as he stared down at you and as much as you were trying to be the bigger person in this and make him see how awful he was being, you felt awfully small.

‘Well let’s face it, it’s not like we’re even from the same universe at this point and everything I do you take the wrong way’ he told you and you could feel yourself shrinking as he turned the tables. Bracing yourself to feel his full wrath as you knew he didn’t like being told off ‘You’re so uptight, y/n and is it any wonder why?’

‘You don’t have to get so personal all the time’

‘But you’re allowed to? You’re allowed to have a go at me cause I fuck around a bit and actually enjoy my life rather than play kids games and and make out I’m holier than thou? Just cause no one’s ever found you attractive doesn’t mean anyone else isn’t allowed any fun’

You never thought he could be this mean. His words from last night paled into comparison from what he was saying now and you unconsciously wrapped your arms around yourself as he tore you to shreds.

‘You know I tried to be a good friend, I tried my hardest to find you someone but you throw it back in my face everytime. Not that I think it would have mattered anyway cause they all tell me you’re too stuck up for your own good. No ones ever gonna want you y/n, cause you make it fucking impossible’

‘I've never been good enough for you have I?’ You whispered, watching the muscle in his jaw flex as a single tear rolled down your cheek, but his face remained hard as you tried to let him know how you felt no matter how heartbroken you were. ‘You know I always thought it was a bit of fun and teasing, you calling me a nerd or whatever but actually don’t like me, do you? But I’m good enough when you need me, I’m good enough to come over and kick out whatever girl you need kicking out. Good enough to cook for you and get you everything you need’ ’

‘Oh fuck off, y/n’ he spat, looking away from you and trying to make his way to the door. ‘You think I need you that much? Have a laugh, I only kept you around cause you came in handy sometimes’ he laughed, trying his hardest to hurt you and even though it was working you could see in his eyes he didn’t mean it. ‘People leave me all the time, why should I give a shit if you do too?’

‘Mase-‘

‘Nah it’s fine, I’ll go. Sorry for giving a shit about you, I know not to do that again. Don’t worry I won’t be back’

You knew exactly what he was doing. He was being defensive because you were upset with him and he wanted to make you feel bad too. You knew he could be mean but never like this and when he slammed your door in your face you stood there for a few moments just taking it all in. Replaying all the awful things he’d said to you before walking like a zombie back to bed and hiding under the covers so you could let a few tears out but not many came. Too in shock at hurt about what he’d said to form any real emotions but as the days went on you felt worse and worse about yourself.

Three weeks went by and you didn’t hear a peep from him. Wondering if maybe you should message him first but after a day you realised he was the one that messed up and you didn’t want to be running after him. He’d completely disappeared from online and you’d even had a cheeky look on some of his update accounts to see if he’d been spotted anywhere but it was just the usual training pictures and nothing more.

It was difficult, getting angrier as the days went by before sadness took its place. He was your best friend and had been for years but you hated everything he’d become and you weren't about to push your boundaries to accommodate him anymore. Not after all the awful things he’d said to you either that wouldn’t stop plaguing your mind.

You’d never felt as ugly as you did right now. His words had hit home as it was things you’d always thought about yourself but to hear them actually vocalised from the person who you thought you meant a lot to stung in a way nothing else ever had. Realising maybe you would be on your own for a long time as there clearly was something wrong with you and as the days passed the harder you cried.

Cried for the friendship you once had, cried for the words he’d spat in your face and cried for how awful you felt about yourself and how lonely you were night after night as you rarely spoke to anyone in fear of your emotions taking over now.

You tried to let it go, carrying on as normal but you could tell Olivia knew something was up. Letting you know she was there for you when you needed but for now you just wanted to wallow a little.

You were sat at home getting lost in a new true crime documentary when you felt your phone ring. Glancing down to see Mason's picture filling up your screen and you instantly froze. Too panicked to answer as you didn’t know what you’d say to him right now so you just stared down at the screen until the call ended. Anxious to see if he would call you back at all but he didn’t and you presumed it was a mistake until the next day when a text came through from him on your lunch break.

What did he want?

You presumed it was to apologise but at this point you didn’t want to hear it. He’d done and said enough and you were still getting over most of it so to have him back in your life seemed counter intuitive.

So you left him on read and forgot about him. Spending your lunch break with Olivia and Joe but by the time you were back at your desk he was all you could think about. His text had left a weird feeling in your tummy and you felt a little bad about knowing he wanted to presumably apologise but you wouldn't let him but what you’d said was true. You really weren’t ready just yet.

Sandra was a person you considered your work mum. A slightly older woman who worked on reception and was the smiling face that always greeted you every morning but she was also the woman you went to for advice and to have a moan to. She’s never judged you or told you what to do but it was nice getting an opinion from someone so wise so knowing you were going to see her filled you with a calmness you hadn’t felt in a while.

‘They’ve not got your favourite left, but I got you a kitkat’ you smiled as you approached the reception desk, noticing Sandra was looking back at you with an awkward smile that confused you until you looked to your left and were met with the brown eyed boy you’d been avoiding. ‘Mason? How did you even get in here?’

‘I let him in’ Sandra smiled, looking over at Mason with a wink and you could see him send her an appreciative smile as he made his way closer to you. Only then clicking the giant bunch of pink and white tulips in his arms and your chest felt tight at the sight of them.

‘You shouldn’t have done that’ you told her lowly, hoping he wouldn’t be able to hear but Sandra had other ideas and brought him into the conversation.

‘Oh come on y/n, how can you say no to that face’ she pouted, tilting her head over to him and once you looked back at Mason his usual cheeky smile adorned his lips as he playfully batted his eyelashes at you. ‘You need to talk to him anyway’

‘No I don’t, what’s he told you?’ you argued back. You purposefully hadn't told Sandra anything about what was going on with Mason as you were embarrassed and wanted to deal with it on your own but you should have known she’d find out eventually. Mothers always do.

‘That you won’t talk to him and that he wants to tell you how sorry he is’

‘Well he can tell me that himself’ you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest before you heard him not so subtly coughing. Looking up to find him glancing between the pair of you like he was reminding you he was still there.

‘I would if you gave me a chance’ he laughed before shyly nodding over to the sofa where guests usually waited. Silently asking you to come with him so you could talk a bit more privately and you reluctantly walked over after a beat. Watching Mason pluck a flower from the bouquet in his arms to give to Sandra as a thank you and you almost cracked a smile at how she blushed when she took it. The pair of them whispering a little before he turned to face you and he walked over like a naughty school boy.

‘Do we have to do this now?’ You asked. Not wanting to have this conversation with him here and now but since you’d been avoiding him you hadn’t given him many other options and you could tell from the way he was looking at you he was determined to speak with you.

‘Yes, we do. You’re ignoring me and left me no choice’

‘Can you just be quick?’ You asked, not wanting to air your dirty laundry in the reception where Sandra could quite easily hear everything and even though you felt bad he’d put the effort in to come and see you, you were practically turning him away.

‘Y/n-

‘Please, Mase. I’m at work’

‘Fine, I’ll go’ he huffed and the heartbroken look on his face made your tummy churn. ‘Only if you agree I can come over later and apologise properly’ he told you but you didn’t agree straight away and you could see he was getting desperate. ‘Y/n please’

‘Okay fine’ you sighed, nodding your head as you knew it would have to be done sooner or later and since he was making the effort you thought you should cut him some slack. His face softened immediately before his eyes fell to the flowers in his hands that he passed to you in with a shy smile

‘These are for you, your favourite’

‘Thank you’ you whispered, taking them carefully and you knew your face was turning red as you held them to your chest. This was the first bunch of flowers anyone had ever bought you and you could feel your eyes welling up at the fact he’d remembered your favourite ones.

‘Well it’s the least you deserve’ he nodded but you didn’t know what to say to him, standing there awkwardly until he coughed. ‘What time will you be home?’

‘Around six’

‘Okay well, maybe I could bring us some food over and we’ll talk’

‘Okay’ you whispered, nodding gently before looking down as you were so overwhelmed with emotions.

He didn’t say anything after that, just touched your arm and planted a quick kiss on your forehead before walking back over to Sandra so he could sign out of the visors book. His action confused you as he never showed you signs of affection aside from the occasional hug so the kiss only made you blush even more. Giving yourself a few seconds to calm down before eventually joining them at the desk.

‘Leaving so soon? Sandra pouted as Mason approached her and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way she was so clearly wrapped around his finger already.

‘Yeah, this one wants me gone’ he teased, signing his name in the box but Sandra just threw you a disappointed look and you felt awful instantly.

‘Oh y/n’ she tutted before looking back at Mason with doe eyes. ‘If it were up to me I’d let you stay’

‘And that’s why you're my number one girl’ he told her. Flashing her his killer smile and sending her wink before turning back to you. ‘I’ll see you later, okay?’

You didn’t answer, just nodded before he left with a sad smile and as soon as he was out the door you felt Sandra’s eyes burning holes into the side of your head.

‘I tell you what, if I was 30 years younger that boy would be in serious trouble’ she told you, fanning herself with a sheet of paper from her notebook and you felt your resolve crack instantly.

‘God sake Sandra’ you laughed. It was clear that Mason was a hit with the ladies but you didn’t know he’d have this hold over someone like Sandra.

‘What’s he done? Is it really that bad or are you just making him sweat?’ She asked casually, the need to spill your guts to her was as overwhelming as ever but something was telling you to keep it under wraps until things with him were sorted so you didn’t say anything you might regret.

‘He’s not been the best for a while but we had a massive argument a few weeks back after he pushed everything a bit too far so we’ve not spoken in a while’

‘I’d just kiss and make up if I were you, he’s too pretty to be mad at’ she teased and you knew you were blushing again. This time out of sheer awkwardness.

‘It’s not like that, Sandra. He’s my best friend, nothing more, okay? No kissing or whatever else you think might be going on’

‘I’m not sure about that’ she mused ‘He doesn’t look at you like a friend’

‘That’s cause he’s trying to get on my good side probably’

‘Hmmm, we’ll see’ she winked but you didn’t want to listen anymore. Quickly making your way back to your desk so she couldn’t try and marry you off to your best friend but you could feel everyone’s eyes on you as you walked through with your flowers. Even Olivia sent you a curious look but you motioned that you’d text her later to explain.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the afternoon. Mason's flowers that were sitting on your desk were a constant reminder that you’d have to see him later and you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him yet, if ever. Everything he’d said to you and the way he’d made you feel was still fresh in your mind and you knew they would take a while to recover from.

You were sick and tired of forgiving him for the cycle to start over again but you couldn’t deny you missed him. Yes things had gotten way out of control but you missed your movie nights and catch ups. You even missed making breakfast together after you’d kicked another girl out for him but you knew it all had to stop. He was a man now and able to look after himself and that’s what you wanted to tell him.

You weren’t expecting him to be on time, he never usually was, but at quarter past six there was a knock on your door. He was earlier than you thought he’d be and when you answered he stood there looking as guilty as ever with a few pizza boxes in his hands and you sent him a small smile before nodding him in.

‘Come in, you whispered, walking him into your living room so he could set the pizza down on the coffee table and take a seat but the only choice you had was to sit next to him as you could only fit a small sofa in here. Your flat wasn’t the biggest in the world and Mason always told you he’d pay for you to live somewhere nicer but it was time like these you were glad he didn’t. Not knowing what might happen if things went up in smoke.

‘Can I talk first? I’ve just been thinking about what I wanna say for days and I don’t wanna mess it up’ he asked you but you just nodded. Not sure what you wanted to say yourself yet so you figured you’d sit and listen to what he wanted to say first.

‘That’s fine’ you whispered, watching him get settled in his seat before launching into his monologue.

‘Okay well, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for everything’ he gulped ‘I know I’ve been the biggest dick and I’ve hurt you but I really am sorry and I’m gonna prove it to you if you’ll let me’ he confirmed and you felt his words swimming through your veins. Never once had you heard him like before let alone hear the words I’m sorry come out of his mouth and look like he meant it.

‘Last time I saw you, when I went off on one, I was just hurt that you’d called me out and I wanted to get you back for it. I know that’s childish and stupid but you hit home with everything you said and I couldn’t take it’ he told you. Clasping his hands together as some form of distraction as he spoke and you knew he was trying his best to hold it together.

‘You’ve always been there for me, you know? You’ve always done things for me that you shouldn’t have and you’ve stuck up for me when you didn’t need to but I’ve surrounded myself with the complete wrong people who don’t care about me. They’re looking for a good time and never tell me no so I thought it was great, but not having you around has just made me realise they’re not the sort of people I need in my life, yeah? You’re what I need’

His strangled voice was pulling at your heartstrings but no matter what he was saying you didn’t want to jump right in and accept his apology. There was so much you wanted to say and that you needed him to know about how he’d treated you. You could see he was sorry and it was evident that he was hurt but if you didn’t want to let him off easy, you wanted him to understand exactly how you were feeling and leave nothing unsaid so you could move away from it and hopefully move on.

‘Please say something’ he gulped, wanting to hear something from you straight away but you knew as soon as you started you wouldn't be able to stop.

‘Thank you for apologising, it really does mean a lot to me that you came here but i'm really hurt Mase and I’m not really sure what to say’ you told him. Your voice sounding thick no matter how hard you tried to hold the tears in and you watched the heartbreak on his face as he saw you get upset.

‘It just sucked, I guess. To feel like you only ever called me when you needed me, like to get rid of someone or if I fit into your plans. Just felt like you didn’t give a damn about me ever. I’ve never said anything or judged you about the way you acted, not until recently at least, cause we’re friends but maybe I should have. Like just told you no a couple of times but I just felt so small to you and that it wouldn’t make a difference’

You could tell he wanted to speak, to let you know that it was all untrue and that he cared about you more than anything but he didn’t butt in. He let you speak and gave you your time to get everything out you needed to and it was more therapeutic than you thought it would be.

‘You know I remember the last time I knew I couldn’t count on you anymore. It was my last year at uni and I had an evening class so I could present my final project but all the trains were messed up and I had to walk there in the end through the rain’ you sniffed and when you looked at him you knew he knew what night you were talking about. ‘It took me just under an hour and I was late in the end so I got docked points and had to make it up with some extra credit but I called you. I called you and you said you were sorry but you were stuck in an important meeting and you couldn’t get out of it’ you hiccuped and it’s like he didn’t want to hear any more. His hands covering his eyes as he shook his head from side to side but you kept going. ‘But then when I got home and I just wanted someone to talk to and rant to there were pictures of you plastered online with some random girl in your lap and I knew you’d lied to me’

‘I’m sorry’ he blubbed, looking up at you with red eyes and a wobbly bottom lip but even that didn’t stop you from carrying on. The words pouring out from your mouth like a waterfall as years of hurt made their way to the surface.

‘You made me feel so worthless when I’ve stuck around since day dot. You always spout about his family is everything to you but I thought that included me? And I felt like I never meant a thing’

‘You did- you do. You mean everything to me I swear. Please please don’t say that it kills me’ he sobbed before finally reaching for you. Pulling you into his body and you let yourself hide in his neck as the tears fell from your eyes. ‘I was a dick for no reason and you’re the last person I should have taken anything out on. You’re right, I was disgusting and I didn’t care about anyone else and you were the first person I actually cared about who told me no and I couldn't take it’

‘You really hurt me’

‘I know I did and I can't tell you how sorry I am’ he cried. ‘I know I’m not easy to be around or easy to keep up with but you’ve always been there and I took you for granted. I honestly didn’t see what I was doing wrong cause no one ever told me, like everyone just let me do what I wanted but I get it now, I really do. I was just so caught up in having a good time and not thinking about the consequences so I took things too far. I know I’m probably out of second chances but I need to ask again cause I can’t lose you’

Your silence was deafening for him and you knew he wanted some sort of answer from you. Eventually sitting up and making you look at him and even though he looked panicked his voice was calm as he carried on speaking.

‘I’m a fuck up okay? I know I am and I know the last thing you probably want or need is me coming back into your life to cause you more stress again but this massive fuck up has misssd you so so much’

You couldn’t stop the little chuckle that fell from your lips. The sound making him smile too before he took your hands in his.

‘I’m sorry for embarrassing you, I’m sorry for all the lies I’ve told and all the horrible shit I’ve said about you and I’m sorry for the constant 8am wakeup calls on a Saturday cause I can’t control myself. I know how to behave and I know what I need to do so I’ll just do it yeah? No more calling you up to kick girls out for me cause they won’t be there in the first place. You need me and I’ll do whatever I can to get there for you and do exactly what you do for me everyday. These few weeks without you have been awful and I’m sorry it took us getting to this point to make me see but I’d rather get rid of everyone in my circle if it meant I got to keep you’ he confirmed as he squeezed your hands a bit tighter. ‘What do you say, huh? Do you think we could work something out?’

‘I mean, you’re right. It probably is the last thing I need’ you started, watching his head sink as his eyes fell to his lap but you just considered it a tiny bit of payback for now. ‘But I can’t lie and say that I haven’t missed you too,’ you told him. Voice wobbling at the end as your emotions took over and you could see he was also finding it hard to take. ‘But I miss the old Mason, I miss my friend’

‘I’m still here I promise. Just give me a chance and I’ll show you I’m still in here’

‘Please don’t make me regret it’ you whispered but you didn’t have a chance to say anything else. Mason bundling you into his arms and the feeling of his arms around you settled you more than anything else had and when he pulled back to smile at you, you felt your heart flutter in your chest. ‘Just because you’ve apologised doesn’t mean things can go back to the way they were. I might need some time’

‘I know, I don’t want that either. I’m gonna prove to you how much I’ve changed and we’ll go at your pace. I just needed to apologise and that’s whether you accepted it or not, but I really would love it if you did’

‘I do’ you told him, your face crumpling once again but he was quick to wrap you up and comfort you once again.

Over the next few weeks he was an angel, giving you the space you needed but also checking in when he could. Things felt normal but so different at the same time and the relief of having your friend back was overwhelming. It was two weeks later when you next saw him in person though, Mason messaging you early Friday evening to see what you were up to the next day but you weren’t expecting his response.

The fact he was offering to drive was tempting. You hated lugging heavy bags on the train and the fact the prospect of food was involved was even more appealing but you hadn’t hung out like this in a long time even before your big fight. Mostly because he was always busy but also because you’d just silently grown apart in that way. Mason liked getting his own way and him doing things for other people didn’t fall into that category.

You had a lot to do and the last thing you needed was him getting bored and rushing you round before spending an afternoon with him trying to annoy you. You knew it was mean but you wanted to put him off a little bit so you could shop in peace but you didn’t want him to think you were still mad at him and didn’t want to hang out.

His message made your heart sink. He really was trying and you knew he wanted more opportunities to prove himself but before you could think about it anymore he was messaging you again to try and convince you even more and you couldn’t deny him this time.

When 9 rolled around the next morning he was there. Standing by his car as he opened the door for you after a quick hug and you promised yourself you’d try and be positive about today and give him a chance to prove himself if that’s what he really wanted.

‘You eaten?’ He asked as you got bucked in, knowing how hungry you got in the mornings but you always prioritised sleep over eating. You had a little bit of extra time today though so you nodded your head at him but didn’t miss how his face dropped slightly.

‘I had some toast’

‘Oh okay, I um… I picked you up one of those juices you like and a pastry but if you don’t want it that’s fine’ he mumbled, looking slightly embarrassed and you felt your heart race at how thoughtful he’d been.

‘Oh… oh no I’ll have it. You know what I’m like, always starving’ you laughed, accepting the little bag and juice he’d picked you up with a smile and you could see how shy he looked. An expression he didn’t usually wear and his soft smile made your heart flutter in your chest. ‘Thank you, Mase’

‘It’s okay’ he whispered, starting the car so he could look away from you and even though the drive was fairly silent with just the low sound of his music playing, you didn’t feel awkward.

‘You coming then?’ You asked as he finished parking, watching his smile light up his face knowing you weren’t going to leave him to sit in the car on his own before he nodded enthusiastically at you.

‘So this trip, is it the usual?’ He asked as you made your way into the main shopping centre and you knew he was referring to where you were going as you visited your auntie in Spain every year.

‘Yeah, it’s just for a few days this time but I really need the break’ you explained and he nodded at you knowingly.

You went to Boots first, Mason holding the basket for you as he followed behind and you filled it with everything you needed. You were about halfway round the shop when you realised something was different, Mason not questioning why you needed everything you put in the basket or making stupid jokes. If anything he was more than helpful, reaching the higher shelves for you and manoeuvring you around the busy aisles by your waist as he knew you hated the crowds.

When it came time to pay, he scanned everything for you while you packed the bag and when you were done he picked it up without any questions so you didn’t have to carry it.

Next on your list was clothes. Wanting to try a few different things on to your usual so you could mix it up a bit and when you had an armful of things to try you turned to Mason with a smile.

‘Will you come into the changing room with me?’

‘What?’ He choked, his eyes going wide immediately as the question sunk in but you just rolled your eyes as you tugged on his wrist.

‘Yeah I need your opinion and I can’t be bothered to keep walking out here every time. I’ll go to one of the family ones so my arse isn’t shoved in your face, don't worry’ you laughed, pushing him inside with you so he didn’t have a choice but you could see the awkwardness on his face. Eventually shifting his eyes to the floor until you bundled him into a cubicle and made him sit on the seat in the corner.

‘I um… what do I-i um’ he mumbled as he set the bags down and you couldn’t help but giggle at his awkwardness. A side of him you hadn’t seen in a while.

‘Oh come on, it’s not like you’ve never seen me in my underwear before’ you laughed thinking back to when you were growing up and to even more recent times like when he showed up at your door and on nights out when he had to put you to bed after one too many but you could see he wasn’t feeling a bit strange so you hung the dresses up on the rail and smiled at him reassuringly. ‘Shut your eyes until I tell you to open them, yeah?’

‘Okay’ he whispered. Shutting his eyes and covering them with his hands as you turned away and picked up the first dress.

It was nothing like you usually wore. Tight and short with a fully cut out back meaning you had to quickly take your bra off to try it on and the thought of wearing it outside these four walls terrified you but you were determined to push yourself out of your comfort zone.

‘You can open them now, what do you think?’ You asked him, watching his eyes adjust to the light for a second before an unreadable emotion took over his face.

‘Oh it’s um… it’s different’ he told you and you couldn't tell if he liked it or not.

‘Well I’ve been thinking about what you said and even though I was pissed at the time and you could have probably worded it nicer I think you were right’ you told him, hands brushing over the short skirt and even though you felt different in it you didn’t feel too uncomfortable. ‘I need to show a bit more skin, you know?’

‘Wait-‘

‘What do boys like more? Bum or boobs? Like what do I need to-‘

‘Wait, stop’ he interrupted, the tone of his voice making you stop in your tracks and turn to him and when he held his hand out to you, you took it carefully. Letting him pull you in between your legs slowly so he could talk to you better but when you felt his fingertips on the backs of your bare thighs your legs turned to jelly.

You didn’t know what it was, that weird feeling pulsating through you at just a simple touch from Mason of all people and the sensation made it feel like you couldn’t get your breath out properly. In the end you had to rest your hands on his chest so you didn’t crumple to the floor and it was like the atmosphere changed within a heartbeat.

His big brown eyes looked dark as he peered up at you through his lashes, the bridge of his nose a deep red and his pouty lips had parted slightly as he tried to control his breathing but it’s like you blinked and the moment was gone. His eyes moving to look at your shoulder now and you moved your hands away from his chest to cross them over your body.

‘Sit down, yeah?’ He whispered, nodding his head to his leg and you sat on his thigh as he caged you in his arms. His face serious as you wondered what he might be about to say to you and you could feel your cheeks getting warm as he looked at you in a way he never had before. ‘You don’t… you don’t need to change the way you look or dress, okay? I was a dick and I shouldn’t have said all that before. It was crap of me and it wasn’t true anyway’

‘But-‘

‘But nothing’ he whispered, cutting you off and you felt your eyes sting as he smiled sweetly at you. ‘You deserve the world, you know that? And you deserve a man who doesn’t care about how much skin you’ve got on show or what your body looks like in what you’ve got on. You want a man who cares about what’s going on in here’ he whispered, tapping your temple lightly before doing the same to the top of your chest. ‘And in here. And yeah it might be a wait but you’ll get there. You don’t have to sell yourself short to dickheads like me who don’t have what you need, okay?’

‘It just gets hard sometimes’ you sniffed, his words hitting you deep in your tummy and you couldn’t stop the tears spilling from your eyes before you felt him pulling you into his body for a cuddle. Your head nestled into his neck as you held onto him for dear life but the feel of his hand stroking up and down your back bare soothed you ever so slightly.

‘I know it does’

‘What’s wrong with me?’ You hiccuped, barely able to hold yourself together at this point but his gentle touches really were helping. You felt safe with him for the first time in a long time and you knew you could tell him anything and it wouldn’t matter. He’d listen and reassure you like best friends are supposed to.

‘Nothing, I promise. Absolutely nothing, you’re perfect okay’ he told you. Speaking the words directly into ear and he sounded so determined and sure of himself that the sound made you shiver. ‘You’re too perfect, maybe that’s the problem. It's dicks like me that have got something wrong with us yeah’ he laughed and you let out a little chuckle before pulling back so you could wipe your eyes. ‘Does everything you picked out look like that?’

‘Yeah’ you laughed, smiling as he caught the tears you missed.

‘Okay well let me go and look for you, I saw a few bits that are more you but just a bit different. You can try those on and see what you think, yeah?’

‘Okay’ you sniffed, not sure about this idea but you were willing to entertain him at this point and when he came back with a few bits you were actually surprised at how much you loved them. Still your style but just a little different and you couldn’t help but give Mason a massive hug at the end.

Once you’d paid, Mason offered to take all the bags back to the car whilst you popped into Primark for underwear and socks and once you were done you met him outside. Your tummy grumbling as it approached lunchtime and he let you pick wherever you wanted to go but you settled on Nando’s as you knew that’s secretly what he wanted and since he’d been good to you that morning you figured you’d be good to him.

You were back at his just after one, leaving your bags in the car but you noticed he’d taken in a white paper bag that you hadn’t seen him with all day and after the pair of you got yourselves a drink and settled on the sofa, he turned to you with a shy smile.

‘Hey, so I got you something’ he told you nervously, producing the white paper bag from earlier from the side of the sofa and you took it from him with a confused grin.

You didn’t ask what it was, just reached in to grab hold of the box and when you finally pulled it out you almost lost your breath. The brightly coloured picture of the northern lights making you smile immediately before you looked up to his nervous face.

‘I wanted to get you one we could maybe do together? I know it’s probably not as big or complicated as you’re used to but I thought we could start me off easy’ he laughed but you were too overcome with emotion to think of anything to say. Never in a million years did you think he’d want to do a puzzle with you let alone buy you one with a picture of the place you’d always wanted to visit the most on it.

‘Can we do it now?’ You asked excitedly. Knowing you had the whole afternoon together to finish it and when his face mirrored yours you felt like jumping up and down.

‘Of course’ he grinned. ‘I’ll clear the coffee table and we can do it there if that’s alright?’

‘That's perfect’ you nodded, hugging the box to your chest as you stood up before touching his arm gently so he’d look at you. ‘Do you mind if I borrow something to wear? I like to be comfy when I’m getting my puzzle on’ you laughed but he just smiled before motioning to follow you to his room. Picking you out a few things to choose from and you settled on a pair of his grey shorts and an oversized T-shirt of his before taking a hoodie down with you just in case you got cold.

Mason got changed too just after you before running into the kitchen to get you both some snacks and drinks whilst you cleared the table and soon enough you were tipping the contense of the box onto the table so you could get started.

‘Right what do we do?’ Mason questioned, the large pile of tiny pieces daunting him quite clearly but you just giggled as you took a seat opposite him.

‘Well I’ll tell you how I do it, so we need to find the corner pieces first, then the edges then we’ll sort the leftovers out by colour and go from there. That sound good?’

‘Okay’ he nodded and you gave him the task of the corners and edges whilst you organised the rest. Only realising then how much of a difficult one this one might be. He was right in saying it was less pieces than you were used to but the picture was complicated and once he’d got all his pieces sorted he looked at you with a confused smile.

‘You realise this is gonna be difficult? And we could be here for a while’ You told him, watching him gulp nervously before looking back at all the pieces.

‘Really? But it’s only 500 pieces. The ones you do are thousands’

‘Yeah but the picture here is complicated, it's just all random colours like there’s no buildings or anything to work from’

‘Oh, shit sorry’ he laughed before shrugging at you. ‘I just know you’ve always wanted to go so I thought you’d like it’

‘No don’t be sorry, I do like it. Love it, in fact. I just don’t want you to get bored or frustrated with it if it takes a while’

‘No it’s okay, I can do it’ he told you. The same determined look you’d seen in his eyes countless times before important games and finals and it made you smile that he was applying the same fight for this.

You let him put some background music on as you worked away. Talking lightly about some plans you both had coming up but it was difficult for Mason to multitask. You could see he was trying his best and had done a lot of work in one of the corners but he couldn’t puzzle and talk like you could and you thought his concentrated face was cute. Often finding yourself just watching him for a few moments until he caught you and sent you a lopsided smile as he blushed.

You ordered food in when the time came. Taking a small break so you could reevaluate how much you’d done before jumping back in and it was approaching 9pm when you finally finished. Mason giving you the last piece to place in as he knew it was your favourite bit before you cheered and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

‘Not bad for something dorks do, huh?’ You giggled but it was like he was frozen. His gaze all over your face before a look of guilt washed over his.

‘You know I never thought you were a dork’ he gulped, wrapping his arms around you tighter and pulling you further into his lap.

‘Mase it’s fine-‘

‘No, cause it’s not’ he shrugged. ‘I never meant it in a malicious way but even playing it’s still not nice so I’m sorry’

‘Thank you’ whispered and after he gave you a quick smile he was looking down at his lap shly again.

‘It’s kinda late, do you maybe wanna stay over? We can have a sleepover like we used to’ he winked and while the idea sounded fun you were also a little unsure.

‘I don’t wanna sleep in your sex bed’ you laughed and the shocked expression on his face made you giggle.

‘Hey, you think I let just anyone go in there? He laughed. ‘I don’t take random girls in there, I take them to the loft room. Well I did at least, I haven’t done that in a while’

‘Why not?’

‘Dunno, just not in the mood? Been too busy begging for your forgiveness’ he teased before his eyes were boring into yours. ‘Please stay’

‘Okay’ you whispered, slightly thankful he’d asked as you didn’t fancy the drive home this late. You were already sleepy and when he tucked you in next to him after he’d put a movie on it didn’t take you long to fall asleep.

The pair of you joked the next morning about who he would call to come and kick you out and you hadn’t felt this normal with him in years. Your Mason was back and you couldn’t be more thankful but again over the next few weeks his behaviour began to change.

It seemed to be going the opposite way though, Mason swapping his devil horns for angel wings and it was like he was getting sweeter by the second.

Every morning you woke up to a good morning text, and every evening he’d text you goodnight. Messaging you throughout the day when he could and even though it was always silly conversations it was like he’d made it his mission to make you smile whenever he could. He was being the best friend he could be and so much more but it was like he was changing his whole life for the better. No more random nights out so he could trap a girl and take her home, no more mean jokes at your expense and you hadn’t heard about his gaggle of yes men in weeks.

You spent all of your free time together. No matter what you were doing or how boring you thought he might have found it he wanted to be there doing it with you.

You knew Mason was always touchy with everyone but he’d never been the same with you. A hand on your shoulder maybe but that was it, however now he couldn’t seem to keep his hands away from you now. Always standing next to you when he could, his hands on your waist or you back or his fingers threaded through yours as you sat and watched tv.

You could feel things changing but you weren’t sure what it was. Wondering if he was just happy you were back but you needed an explanation for the puppy eyes he was sending your way every five seconds that you didn’t understand.

You waited until you’d been to his for dinner one night, letting him load the dishwasher as you got comfortable on the sofa and once he was done he flopped down with his head in your lap as a content hum fell from his lips.

‘What’s gotten into you lately?’ You laughed, massaging his head slightly as he nestled into your lap even further but the action just made you laugh until he was rolling onto his back and looking up at you with a smile that made his eyes crease.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well I know I said I wanted the old Mason back but this is something else’ you winked and you could see his cheeks flush as you called him out for his actions.

‘Well I want you to like me’ he shrugged, sitting up and taking your hand in his and even though he was shy you kept pressing him in hope of some answers.

‘You’re my best friend Mason, of course I like you’

‘What if I more than like you?’ He whispered, so quietly you thought you hadn’t heard it but when your eyes met his you knew he’d said what you thought he had.

‘I don’t understand’

‘I don’t either really’ he laughed, sitting up taller so he could face you and you felt your heart race at what he might be saying. ‘All I know is that things have changed for me and I feel like I need you to know how I feel. It’s fine if you don’t feel it too but I’ve just been feeling these things for you for a few weeks and you’re the person I tell everything to so I feel like I’ve got to tell you now’

‘What things are you feeling?’ You asked. Wondering if you’d maybe got the wrong end of the stick but his next sentence took the breath out of your lungs.

‘Im feeling like I wanna kiss you’ he whispered, barely able to hear him but you knew what he’d said.

What?

You couldn’t speak, and by the looks of it Mason knew he had to keep speaking so you let him squeeze you hand as he word vomited everything he’d been holding in.

‘I just keep having these moments with you, like time stops and I’m in this trance and all I can focus on you and wanting you in a way I’ve never done before. Remember when we did that puzzle? You put that last piece in and you were just so happy like I swear to god all I wanted to was kiss your face off’ he laughed but you couldn’t believe what he was saying. Not sure how to react as no one had ever said anything like this to you let alone your best friend.

‘Mase I- I don’t think I-‘

‘It’s okay’ he smiled. ‘I said it’s fine if you don’t’ he smiled and even though him saying it made you feel better, you could tell he was a little embarrassed. Wondering if you should make a joke to ease the tension and as he looked away you began to speak without even thinking.

‘I know you said you weren’t in the mood for girls but you must be really desperate if you’re thinking about kissing me’ you laughed, trying to ease the tension slightly but he just smiled at you and shrugged.

‘I wouldn't go that far. But it’s honestly fine, we’ve been spending a lot of time together and I’ve probably got all mixed up. I’m sure it’s just a phase and it’ll pass’ he laughed. ‘Just forget it, it’s fine and I don’t want things to be weird’

But how could you forget?

No one in your entire existence had ever admitted having feelings for you. It was something you never thought would happen yet here was your best friend telling you he felt like he wanted to kiss you.

It was like a switch had suddenly gone off in your brain, over the coming weeks finding yourself daydreaming about kissing him too and what it might be like to be his girl. Thinking about how his hand would feel clasped in your own, his fingers linked in between yours or just how his touch would feel anywhere and everywhere on your body.

You shook yourself out of it at first, like you were waking yourself up from a nightmare and you couldn’t comprehend how your brain had conjured up such a strange image but as the days went on you basked in it. Giggling as you dreamed about all the things you could do together and how happy you could be.

The pair of you had always been platonic, and whilst lately the lines maybe had become a bit blurred as he became touchier with you with the added time you spent together, your thoughts about him lately were anything but platonic.

Everytime you shut your eyes all you could see was his soft smile and the way his eyes creased at the sides so adorably. The dimple on his cheek made your heart race and all you could think about was taking him up on his offer and planting your lips on his. It wasn’t just his smile though, it was everything. His chocolate chip eyes you wanted to drown in, his smell that made you feel like home and his arms that made you feel safer than anything else.

Everything seemed to be hitting you like a truck and you felt ridiculous. Waiting for his name to pop up on your phone constantly and the butterflies only intensified with each new message. Finding yourself sat giggling in anticipation of what he was going to say next and going to bed with a huge smile on your face every night.

You never meant to fall for him, much like he probably never meant to fall for you, but it had happened and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Feeling like a schoolgirl with your first crush and the fact you knew it was reciprocated somewhat excited you and filled you with dread at the same time.

The more you thought about him, the sillier you started to feel. He never offered to be your boyfriend, never said anything about dates or anything extra. He’d said he wanted to kiss you, and that was it.

The words just a phase rang through your ears constantly and as the days went by you realised you didn’t want to be just a phase to him. Disappointment flooding you at him trying his best to curb his feelings whilst yours only grew for him.

You’d noticed he’d pulled back from you a little bit, trying his hardest not to talk to you every minute of the day but you didn’t let him ignore you for too long. Now you were in your feels all you could think about was him and when you might next get to see him. Not wanting to look too eager and alert him to the fact anything had changed but when he text you one evening you felt your excitement levels rise.

You decided to wear one of the dresses he’d picked out for you for your holiday and gave yourself enough time to do your makeup nicely and straighten your hair. You didn't know why you wanted to, or maybe you did, but it was the first night out where he wasn’t trying to set you up with one of his friends and you felt more relaxed about it. That was until he text you that he was on his way and you felt like throwing up.

It's like the words were stuck in his throat as soon as he saw you, frozen to the spot as you locked your door behind you and you could see him visibly gulp as he tried to shake it off and say hello to you properly.

It was one of the weirdest nights out you’d ever been on, the pair of you turning up together and he led you to your section by your hand. Once he’d found you both seats next to each other he was off to the bar to get you a drink with his eyes not leaving you for me more a few moments before he was back with you.

Things only got weirder though as he paid no attention to any of the girls looking his way, not even engaging in conversation with most of the girls the boys would introduce to him and when you tried to question him about it he just shrugged and said he wasn’t in the mood.

‘Hey y/n, have you met Ethan?’ Woody asked as he nodded someone over. A tall guy with dark hair and bright blue eyes making his way over to you and you rolled your eyes at his clear attempt to set you up with another one of his friends after you’d told him to stop but the feeling of Mason dropping your hand from under the table that made you turn away to look back at him.

He didn’t say anything, just gave you what looked like a sad smile before you had to turn back to say hello to Ethan. Woody banging on about how he came from Portsmouth just like you and Mason and how they’d gone to primary school together but now Ethan was in the Navy hence why you’d never seen him but he was back for a little while to visit.

You didn’t know what possessed you to do it, but you felt weird now Mason's hand wasn’t in yours. Looking down to see it was resting on his thigh so as carefully and as sneakily as you could you laced your fingers back through his and squeezed it gently. Not acknowledging him in any way but you could see his head snap up to look at you from the corner of your eye before his other hand fell over your clasped ones. Fiddling with your rings as the others spoke and you tried not to smile at how adorable he was being.

All the thoughts you’d had about having more with Mason that week, he was making a reality tonight. Giving you glimpses of what it might be like to to be his and how he might treat you but you were still so unsure as to what he wanted as he told you he was just a phase he was getting over so you played dumb for little.

‘You wanna dance?’ You asked him, tugging on his hand gently but he just scrunched his face up slightly.

‘I’m good, you go I’ll watch you’ he smiled and whilst the thought of him watching you dance thrilled you a little bit, you also could tell he wasn’t on his a game and looked like he didn’t even want to be there at all anymore.

‘Are you okay? You don’t seem as into it as usual’

‘I’m fine’ he shrugged ‘Dunno just not in the mood to be around loads of people i guess’

‘We can leave if you want? I mean it’s way past my bedtime anyway’

‘We can, but I’ve got one condition’ he told you with a smile, leaning closer so he could talk right in your ear and you felt every hair in your body stand to attention.

‘What’s that?’

‘Come stay at mine?’ He whispered and his offer made you freeze. ‘I’ll make you breakfast in the morning’

‘Okay’ you whispered, letting him take your hand and lead you out but you were surprised he didn’t want to say goodbye to anyone first. Only giving Woody a quick wave who gave the pair of you a look you couldn't quite make out before you were jumping in a cab back to his.

Part of you was happy he wanted to get home earlier than usual, it had been a long week and once you were changed into an oversized T-shirt of his you got settled on your side of his bed. Hazily watching him slip under the covers in just a pair of boxers as you tried to hide a smile and thankfully he didn’t catch it.

‘Go to sleep love, you look exhausted’ he laughed, tucking the duvet around you a little more tightly. ‘I’ve just got a few emails to look through okay but I’ll be quite’

‘That’s fine, Night Mase’

‘Night love’ he whispered and you turned onto your side away from him so you could get comfy and hopefully drift off soon.

Your whole body felt like a dead weight, your eyes feeling like they’d been stuck together with glue but your mind wouldn’t shut off and you knew you would be thinking about Mason and replaying most of the night you’d just spent together. Remembering the way he held your hand, held your waist and spoke directly into your ear like you were his made your spine tingle. But the memories were soon becoming warped and disfigured as your brain became tired and you eventually let the sleep take you.

You hadn't been asleep long, but the feeling of Mason's arm sliding around your waist as he cuddled up to you woke you slightly. Not enough to wake you up fully and the warmth of his body pressed against yours was already sending you back to sleep so you just went with it and let him hold you. Revelling in the soft kisses he was pressing to your shoulder as you tried not to smile but you definitely weren't ready for what was about to happen next.

‘What am I gonna do with you, eh?’ He whispered, only just loud enough for you to hear but you knew you shouldn’t be. He obviously thought you were still asleep and couldn’t hear him so you stayed as still as you could and kept your breathing steady in hopes he’d carry on. ‘I’d do absolutely anything for you, you know that? And I’m really trying to get over you but you make it so difficult’

I don’t want you to get over me was the first thought in your head but you didn’t vocalise it. You wanted him to keep talking, to see what else he could admit to your semi unconscious state and luckily enough for you he kept going.

‘I know I said it was just a phase but I’m not so sure it is now. You’re the only person who knows the real me and wants what’s best for me. I can’t get you out of my head’

You waited for more, but it never came. Soon enough his soft snores filled the room and you knew he was asleep but his admissions were enough for you. You knew how he felt, and you were pretty sure you felt the same now but you weren’t sure if you had the balls to do anything about it right now so you followed his lead and shut your eyes so you could let the sleep take you again.

Mason was still asleep when you awoke. The pair of you facing each other as you’d turned in your sleep and you used the time he was asleep just to look at him. His pouty lips and pink cheeks made your tummy flutter and after what you’d heard last night all you could think about is what to say to him this morning.

He didn’t give you too much longer to think about it though and you felt your heart thump as he stirred awake. His eyes opening softly as they latched onto yours but his expression remained unchanged asides from a small smile. Just looking back at you as you did the same to him and a sense of peace washed over you.

The pair of you were both on the edge of your own respective pillows, as close as you could be without touching one another but the moment felt intimate and you could see the love in his eyes for you as you watched each other bathed in the early morning sun. The light bringing out the golden tones in his hair and the honey hues in his eyes, it hitting you right there that your best friend was probably the most gorgeous boy you’d ever laid eyes on.

You both didn’t move for a while. Content with just looking at the person in front of you and thinking how thankful you were that you got a chance to wake up next to them and you knew this was only ending one way. You were nervous to say the least, but after everything you’d heard last night you were pretty sure you were on the same page and he’d welcome what you were about to give him.

It was you that made the first move. Not even sure as to why you did it but you lent forward slowly, watching how his body mirrored your own as you kept going and both your eyes snapped away from one another. Focusing on the others lips now and just as your hand reached out to touch his chest for a bit of support, your lips finally locked and his hand cupped your jaw immediately.

It wasn’t a soft kiss like you thought it might be, Mason stole the breath from your lungs as soon as it hit him what was happening. Pushing himself forward so he could hover over you and control the kiss a bit more but you moved your hand to the back of his head so he wouldn’t part from you.

Your tummy was erupting with butterflies, your chest heaving as he slipped his tongue in your mouth and you couldn’t help but press yourself into him further. Letting him grip your thigh as he hitched it up his body and you were quite happy to get lost in him but it was Mason that pulled back. Kissing over your cheeks until you were giggling and when he eventually pulled back his smile made your heart melt.

He was quick to settle back down next to you. Pulling your body right up against his and keeping your thigh wrapped around his waist before you felt his hand on your lower back so he could tickle your skin lightly.

‘Sorry’ you whispered, suddenly feeling embarrassed about what you’d done but his gentle smile relaxed you.

‘Don’t be, I don’t mind’ he smiled. Pecking your lips again softly and you knew you were blushing. ‘You know I’ve been wanting to kiss for a while but I didn’t wanna push things too far’ he smiled ‘and it’s not that I don’t want to ever, but I don’t want you to regret anything right now’

‘I wouldn’t have’ you whispered, watching his face soften slightly but deep down you knew it was for the best. You still didn’t know what any of this meant and it was clearly obvious to Mason you were worried as he brushed some strands of hair out of your face and gave you a sympathetic smile.

‘What is it, love? What’s on your mind’

‘I just… I’m not sure, like what does all of this mean?’ You breathed. Watching his eyes light up as you finally spoke your mind. ‘Your my best friend Mason, I don’t want to lose you’

‘You won’t’

‘But I need to know what you want. Is it just a kiss? Like are we done now?’ You laughed, trying to keep it light as it was a pretty serious conversation but the smile on his face relaxed you.

‘No, I’m definitely not done with you’ he told you sincerely. ‘I get us being friends complicates things a little bit but I’m not the guy you think I am, not anymore at least anyway and definitely not when it comes to you’

‘I feel like I’m not enough for you’ you whispered, finally addressing the elephant in the room and you could tell your words had upset him a little bit. The frown on his face was adorable but you wanted him to know how you felt no matter how awful it sounded.

‘Don’t say that’ he huffed, kissing your jaw gently. ‘Tell me why so I can tell you it’s rubbish’

‘No because what if I can’t give you everything those other girls have?’ You laughed even though you were trying to be serious. ‘Like I don't wanna be a dick but you’ve always said you’d never be a one woman guy so what’s changed. What if your eyes wander somewhere else? What do I do then?’

You didn’t mean for it to come out so abruptly but Mason knew you never minced your words and didn’t take it too badly. He knew his past and he owned it but he also knew it was his feelings for you that had changed him and he was willing to say whatever he could to get you on board.

‘Remember the day we did the puzzle together, and I said I hadn’t slept with anyone in a while cause I wasn’t in the mood? Well that wasn’t the reason. I didn't know it then fully but I hadn’t because all I wanted was you and the thought of being with anyone else made me feel weird’ he told you. His fingers delicately tracing patterns on your back as he spoke and you knew you were hanging off his every word. ‘At first I thought it was because I missed us being together and I wanted to spend more time with you, but then I wanted to spend all my time with you. My eyes aren’t gonna wander okay? They haven’t in months and why would they when you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen’

‘You’re just saying that’ you whispered, not used to compliments like that coming from him and your instincts were to think he was lying but you could see in his eyes something had changed.

‘Don’t tell me what I think’ he teased, squeezing your sides gently. ‘I’ve always thought you were pretty, why do you think I could never understand that you were single?’

‘Mase I’ve never… I’ve never done any of this. You’re the first boy who’s ever admitted to feeling anything more than friendship with me. I don’t know what to do’

‘You don’t have to do anything, we don’t have to do anything okay? Nothing has to change. I just wanna hold you more, kiss you more maybe if that’s something you’d want’

‘I’ve never had sex’ you blurted and the confession made him chuckle. Clearly he knew this already but you just wanted him to be certain of what he was getting himself into.

‘That’s fine’ he whispered, pulling you in a little closer. ‘I know you’re scared, okay? This is different for me too. I’ve never had a proper girlfriend before, I mean I’ve dated girls and been exclusive with a couple but never got to the official stage. I’ve never wanted that from anyone but I want it from you. If that’s what you want’

‘I think I do, I’m just…’

‘What?’ He whispered, a look of love and reassurance on his face and you felt your eyes sting at how safe you felt with him.

‘I’m fucking terrified’ you laughed. ‘I know I’ve been trying to find someone but I never thought it would be you’

‘Well I didn’t think I’d fall for you either’ he winked before placing a soft kiss to your lips that made you melt into the sheets. ‘We don’t have to stick a big label on it or anything, we can just hang out like we have been and see what comes natural to us okay? And if it’s sex your worried about then I don’t care about waiting’

‘I don’t wanna be bad for you’

‘You won’t be, not when you’ve got me for a teacher anyway’ he joked and you rolled your eyes before his face got serious. ‘I know you’re scared but you know you can trust me don't you? I wanna be the one to show you, to make you feel good. I wanna be the one you trust to show you how good it can be’ he whispered and you felt your skin tingle all over at his words. ‘But we’ll wait until you’re ready cause there’s a million things we need to do before we get there’

‘So I’m not just a phase then?’

‘Not at all’ he laughed, ‘and I never thought you were. I could just tell you didn’t feel the same when I told you how I felt and I was trying to make you feel better’ He’d explained. ‘I couldn't go three weeks without you, gorgeous. And I knew I’d fucked up the next day but I was too much of a dick to do anything about it until I couldn’t cope without you anymore’

‘So.. you’re looking for a relationship then?’ You asked, wanting everything out on the table so you could both be certain about what was going on and you watched his face soften at you as he bit his lip nervously.

‘I wasn’t, you know I’ve never cared about that stuff but you’ve made me care. I want to do all that stuff with you. I’m done messing people around okay I just want you’

‘I want you too’ you whispered, finally admitting it out loud and you felt the weight of the world lift off of you.

‘Yeah? I thought you didn’t’

‘So did I, but ever since you told me how you felt I haven’t been able to stop thinking about us. Its like you tapped into this weird part of my brain that thinks about you in ways I never have before’

‘You’ve finally fallen victim to my mind control’ he teased and you only had a second to smile before his lips were on yours again. Hot and heavy as you wrapped yourselves around each other and you realised kissing Mason was better than you ever imagined. You just hoped you could somehow make him feel the same one day but when Mason pulled back and rested his forehead on yours, his eyes told you all you needed to know.

‘So if you’ve never had sex and never had a boyfriend, was that your first kiss?’ He asked quizzically, a spark of hope in his eyes that he could kiss you like no one else had but unfortunately you had to burst his bubble just a tiny bit.

���You’d think it would be but no it wasn’t’ you giggled and he looked at you in deep confusion. ‘You remember Scott from school? Scott Grey?’ You asked and he nodded his head in confusion. ‘Well technically he was my first kiss’

‘You what?’

‘Oh yeah’ you laughed, laying on your back as he pushed you back slightly and you could see the jealousy written all over his face. 'He took me round the back of the science building after school once to show me his new tamagotchi. Asked if I’d liked to be its mum before planting one on me and then never spoke to me again’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? I would have kicked his dick off’ he told you, brows pinched as you could tell how annoyed he was with him but you were quick to hold his face and kiss his nose.

‘First of all, no you wouldn’t have. He was twice your size and his dad was on the school board so you could have been kicked out. And secondly I never told you cause you’ve never asked’

‘I’ve been pretty rubbish haven’t I’ he huffed, it suddenly hitting him that he simultaneously knew everything about you but also nothing at all but the way you stroked his cheek let him know everything was okay.

‘If it makes you feel any better, you were my first proper kiss. I’ve never kissed anyone like that before’

‘That does make me feel better’ he chuckled. Getting himself settled next to you again before he pulled you into his chest. ‘What about dates?’

‘I’ve been on a couple’

‘When was the last one?’

‘Like two months ago? A few days after we had our big argument’

‘What?’ He laughed, tickling your sides until you giggled but you fought him off eventually.

‘After I called you a dick and left the club that night, Olivia took me to a party at some guys from works house. I got talking to one of his friends and we went out on a date a few days after but it was actually me that wasn’t feeling it and I told him I didn't see things going anywhere’

‘What was wrong with him?’ He asked quietly but that was the issue. There was nothing wrong with him at all.

‘Just didn’t feel what I thought I should have felt you know?’ You whispered and you saw Mason nod gently with a smile on his lips. ‘I know I’ve never been in that situation or felt those things before but I told myself when I did eventually find someone I wouldn’t settle for just anyone. I want fireworks and warmth and all those things you read about’

‘Do you feel it now?’ He whispered, his eyes searching your face erratically almost as if he was scared of your answer but little did he know he had no reason to be.

‘I do, yeah’

The relieved breath that fell from Mason's lips made you smile wider than you had in a while. His own face mirroring yours just as he planted another heavy kiss on your lips before trailing his kissed down your jaw and neck and you knew you had to try and distract him before you both ended up in a compromised position.

‘Mason?’ You gasped, hearing him chuckle against your skin and even though he stopped his attack with his lips you felt him nestle into you with a content hum that made you pull him in closer.

‘Yes love?’ He spoke against your neck, the vibrations travelling over every inch of your skin and you had to hold in your gasp at the feel of it.

‘You promised me breakfast’ you whispered and that was all it took for him to pull up and look at you with his usual cheeky smile.

‘I did, didn't I’ he laughed. Gently brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. ‘How do pancakes sound?’

‘It sounds like you want me to make breakfast’ you pouted, watching him nod at you enthusiastically before he was trying his hardest to pull you away from the warmth and safety of the duvet.

‘I love how you get me. Come on, I’ll assist you’ he confirmed and you didn’t have it in you to argue. Letting him pull you up so you could stand in front of him and when you felt his hands dangerously low on your back you smiled up at him cheekily. ‘Thank you for giving me a shot, I know I don’t deserve one’

‘You better make it worth my while then, Mount’ you teased but no more words needed to be said. You could see it in his eyes he was ready to make things as good for the pair of you as he could so you let him lead you downstairs by the hand to start the next part of your journey together.

Well done if you made it 🤭 thank you so so much for reading and I’d love some feedback if you fancy it 😘 xxx

[neos127]

Could you please write a story about a foreign exchange student, featuring any member of ENHYPEN, who stays at your house and gradually falls in love with you? Personally, I can see this happening with Ni-ki, but feel free to choose whichever member you like! thank you! love <33

international love

nishimura riki x gn!reader; genre. fluff, strangers to lovers and slight slight angst wc. 1.6k cw. a lot of time skips! i didn’t want to make this too long

riki was sure this was the most awkward meal of his life. his host parents were sweet, trying to make conversation and make the boy feel comfortable. their daughter was nice as well, but riki wasn’t sure why you seemed so weird around him. he knew that his awkwardness when it came to you was because he thought you were pretty. riki had only met your parents online before he came to your country, simply knowing that they had a daughter but not knowing what she looked like. imagine riki’s surprise when he saw your face for the first time.

he had a few crushes back in japan, but he was positive that you were the most beautiful girl he has ever seen in his life.

later that night, riki was getting ready for bed in the guest bedroom. he felt a bit home sick and sighed as he looked out the window, taking a mental note of the differences in the view. riki sat down on his temporary bed with a slight pout, missing his room already.

“can i come in?” you asked, knocking on riki’s door. the boy jumped up from his bed, his heart racing at the sound of your soft voice. as soon as he opened the door, you stepped back in surprise, nearly forgetting how tall riki was.

“hi. i-i just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay. or if you needed something that my parents might’ve forgotten to give to you.” you spoke up, nervously playing with your hands. riki bit back a smile, finding you to be very adorable.

“no…don’t worry im okay.” riki replied, giving you the most awkward thumbs up. you let out a chuckle before nodding your head. the two of you mumble ‘goodnight’ and you race back to your room. you heart pounded against your chest as you closed your bedroom door, face heating up as you replayed the conversation.

when you had found out who was coming to stay with your family for your school’s exchange student program, you instantly tried to find the boy on social media. when you did you were stunned, noticing how cute he was but also how talented. he posted many dance videos with his friends and older sister and he was really good.

so meeting him in person completely caught you off guard. had he seemed as tall as he was in the pictures? why was he even more gorgeous in real life? you felt silly about your feelings, trying to bury them down and simply be friendly towards the exchange student. he was new to your country and you didn’t want to scare him.

little did you know, riki felt the same way you did.

. . .

halfway through the school year, you and riki became close friends. he had met many people during his stay, a lot of girls and boys desperately wanting to befriend the boy because of how cool and handsome he was. but riki only really cared about hanging around you. you became his best friend— and the girl he secretly had a crush on.

you learned a lot about him and his life in japan as he warmed up to you. he would spend many nights with you under the stars, telling you how much he loves being in japan and how the city life is really fun. he would teach you different words and phrases in japanese and even made you promise to come visit him when he inevitably goes back.

and unfortunately when that dreaded day came, no feelings had been shared. riki had cried all night, similar to the night he first came to your country when he thought that he had made a huge mistake.

his eyes were red as the two of you embraced at the airport and you simply cried against his chest. your parents had already said their goodbyes to the boy and went to find food to give you two privacy.

riki had been a better friend to you than anyone you had ever met in your city, he understood you and never took your friendship for granted. the boy was understanding about your feelings and kept your life filled with laughter and fun—but unfortunately he lived in a completely different country and he wouldn’t be by your side as you went off to college.

“i’ll come visit you…i swear.” you cried, squeezing the boy harder. riki nodded, his hand still on your held as he held the back of it.

“i lo-i’ll um, i’ll miss you. i’ll be waiting for you.” riki mumbled, his words having more meaning than you understood at the time.

“we’ll talk, okay?” you asked, trying to wipe all your tears away once you pulled back. riki smiled, gently wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks before softly poking your nose.

“of course. i’ll see you soon.” he replied, giving your hand one last squeeze before backing away. with a sigh he grabbed his suitcase and gave you one last look before turning around. you began to cry again, attempting to hide your sobs as much as possible. you watched him until he rounded a corner of the airport— and then he was completely out of your sight.

. . .

riki hadn’t left your mind. you stalked his socials at night before bed, updated him on your day and even looked through the many pictures you two took together. a part of you felt upset that you hadn’t made a move on him. there was definitely a spark between you two, you were just too scared.

but as a couple years passed and you finally saved up to take your big trip to japan, you realized that you were tired of being scared. if riki had waited for you like he said he would, you were positive that you weren’t going to let him go this time.

“what are you doing right now?” you asked on the phone once you arrived. you were sitting on your hotel bed and staring out at the tokyo skyline, your stomach knotting with nerves. riki simply thought that you were calling him before you went to class like always, not knowing that you were in japan. you wanted to surprise him, hoping that he’d be happy to see you after so long.

“sitting at my favorite park- the one i told you about a couple years ago. it’s such a pretty night, i wanted to appreciate it and take some pictures. i’ll send them to you.” riki explained and you could practically see the smile on his face.

“enjoy yourself, riki.” you smiled, already typing the address into your phone’s gps. you had remembered the name of the park, wanting to visit ever since riki told you how beautiful it was. finally getting to see it with the boy you were in love with definitely had to be some sort of dream.

you kept pinching yourself on the way there, wondering how you happened to get so lucky with riki. he was the best person to ever walk into you life and it was painful not being able to see him or touch him for so long— you were practically jogging to the park as your desire to see him grew.

once you walked past the entrance, you wandered the place, searching for a tall boy with dark brown hair— different from the blonde style he had when you first met him.

“y/n, what the hell?” a deep voice spoke, causing you to gasp and turn around in surprise. you were met with the boy you were looking for, who seemed to have grown even more since you two last saw each other.

“what are you doing here?” he chuckled when he saw your surprised expression, his wide smile hard to contain. he never expected you to visit him so soon, but when he saw you wandering around his favorite place to get away, his heart began to beat out of his chest and all the feelings he harbored for you came rushing back even stronger.

“i wanted to surprise you.” you whined, your next words getting caught in your throat when riki pulled you into a tight hug.

“i’m still very surprised. and so so happy. i missed you so much, my y/n.” riki mumbled, taking in your scent and realizing that you still used the same perfume. the smell was nostalgic and comforting, it made him feel complete again.

“please don’t ever leave me.” he begged, still hanging onto your body while the two of you rocked back and forth in each others arms.

“i’m going to have to go back to [your country] eventually.” you sighed, burying your head into his hoodie.

“no, please stay with me. i mean it. i love you too much to let you go again. you could move in with me, we could be roommates. we can figure out the details since i know you’re not in school right now.” riki rambled, causing you to abruptly pull away and look at his face. he didn’t want to meet you eyes until you forcibly grabbed his face.

“you’re in love with me?” you asked timidly, the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears.

“definitely. i’m so in love with you that it hurts.” riki replied, dramatically clutching his chest and stumbling backwards. you giggled, feeling like the same lovesick eighteen year old that first met riki.

“i love you too, riki.” you spoke up, a big smile on your face. riki smiled as well before quickly scooping you up into his arms and kissing you. it didn’t last very long considering that the two of you were practically smiling into each others mouths.

“so you’ll consider staying?” riki asked, moving to place a few kisses along your neck and face. you giggled, running your hands through his fluffy hair.

“well when you ask like that…”

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Welcome to Beast's Party

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

In a guest room at the castle, an unusual mix of princes and one official were holding a meeting.

Clavis: "I want to throw a party to thank Emma for always working so hard."

Clavis: "The reason I called you all here is to invite you to help me plan that party."

Keith: "I think it's a great idea! I'm in—let's get started right away!"

Sariel: "I didn't expect such a reasonable suggestion from you. I'm in as well."

Kagari: "If we're throwing a party, we can't forget a mountain of dorayaki. It's a tradition in Kogyoku."

Keith: "Kagari, you know you shouldn't lie, right?"

Clavis: "Thank you, everyone, for expressing your agreement in your own unique ways."

Clavis: "But a plain, ordinary party wouldn't be any fun, so I've come up with the perfect entertainment."

Keith: "Can I take it back and think it over?"

Sariel: "This discussion is over."

Kagari: "I've never been on the performing side before, so let's hear it."

Clavis: "Thanks again for your three very unique responses. Now, back to the topic at hand."

Clavis: "We'll write a romance story together and perform it as a play!"

Clavis: "If anyone refuses, the party will consist solely of weird-colored dishes, and traps will be set up throughout the castle."

Keith: "You really moved straight into the threats there, Clavis."

Sariel: "I can sense a long history of rejected ideas behind this."

Kagari: "Is it because the princess likes reading romance stories?"

Clavis: "Exactly. Both writing the story and performing it are all for Emma."

Clavis: "This is probably a billion times more sensible than my usual proposals."

Sariel: "Not something to brag about, but you're not wrong."

Sariel: "Prince Keith, Prince Kagari, what do you think?"

Keith: "I was a little wary at first, but after hearing the plan, I think it's brilliant."

Kagari: "I'm in too. I've never done this before, but leave it to me. So, what kind of story will it be?"

Kagari: "How about a tale of a dorayaki seller and a samurai? A bloody feud between red bean paste lovers and smooth bean paste lovers."

Sariel: "I'd love to hear how that turns into a romance."

Clavis: "Unique, but a bit too niche."

Clavis: "How about this: A prince is turned into a clay figurine by an evil witch. He goes on a journey and falls in love with a woman he meets. Then, when they share a true love's kiss, she also turns into a clay figurine, and they live happily ever after."

Keith: "Everyone defines happiness differently, but wouldn't this just make Emma cry?"

Sariel: "Rejected. That ending is straight-up horror."

Kagari: "I think it's interesting, though—a love story between clay figurines."

Keith: "They're human! Don't let him mislead you!"

Clavis: "It seems the world isn't ready for it yet. I'll save it for my next life."

Clavis: "Keith, let's hear what kind of story you'd come up with."

Keith: "Alright."

Keith: "How about this: A fairy falls in love with a prince, makes a deal with a witch to trade her voice for a human form, and sets off to confess her feelings."

Keith: "But halfway through, her true identity as a fairy is discovered. She makes another deal with the witch—this time giving up her ears to turn back time to before she was discovered."

Sariel: "This fairy is taking on way too much loss. I'd be seriously worried she's the kind who easily falls for scams."

Kagari: "Keith, are you into tragic love stories?"

Keith: "Not usually, but maybe this time I am."

Clavis: "That one would make Emma cry, too. Next—Sariel."

Sariel: "A prince and a princess from enemy nations fall in love, but are torn apart by war only to be reunited in their next life. How's that?"

Clavis: "Bittersweet, but it ends on a happy note. Annoyingly enough, it's not bad."

Kagari: "Clavis, we're supposed to act out the play ourselves, right?"

Clavis: "Of course. I told you—we'll write a romance story and perform it as a play with this group."

Kagari: "So four guys are going to throw their whole bodies into acting out a love story?"

Clavis: "…………."

Keith: "……………"

Sariel: "………….."

Keith: "This is starting to sound like a punishment game—for both the actors and the audience."

Sariel: "Even imagining it makes my stomach churn."

Clavis: "I can already picture the forced smile on Emma's face. No, this might actually damage my mental state."

Kagari: "In that case, why don't we use that for the play instead?"

Moments later...

Clavis: "Puppets. That's a great idea—this way, even with just four of us, we can still put on a romance play."

Sariel: "Still, how did you manage to prepare such intricate puppets in less than a day?"

Kagari: "I made them."

Sariel: "You made them? I must say, I'm impressed by your craftsmanship."

Kagari: "Feel free to keep the praise coming."

Kagari: "This actually takes me back. When I was a kid, I used to make these for fun."

Keith: "Whoa, they move so delicately—like they're actually alive. I could watch this forever."

Kagari: "Seriously, don't hold back on the praise."

Kagari: "Clavis, do you have the script ready?"

Clavis: "Of course. I pieced it together from all the story ideas you suggested."

Keith: "Wait, seriously? That was fast."

Clavis: "I used to write stories for my younger brothers. This was nothing."

Keith: "I used to read stories to my little sister, but I was never good at writing them. You're amazing, Clavis."

Sariel: "Oh? The roles are already assigned, too. How efficient."

Clavis: "Everyone got your puppets? Then let's begin the rehearsal!"

[The Rehearsal Begins]

Cast:

A noble lady on the brink of ruin – Kagari

A pleasure-loving prince – Clavis

The prince's trusted retainer – Sariel

The noble lady's personal butler – Keith

Prince: "It's been a long journey. I'm finally about to see the legendary treasure with my own eyes. Just you wait!" Prince: "Huh? I sense someone nearby. Who's there?" Noblewoman: "Oh my, what a handsome gentleman. Is this love at first sight? May I ask your name?" Loyal Butler: "Milady, this is the 101st time you've fallen in love at first sight. Please show some restraint." Prince: "What perfect timing. Could this meeting have been fate?" Prince: "Do you know of the legendary treasure—the winged clay figurine? I came here to obtain it." Noblewoman: "It's in our barn." Prince: "I love you. Let's get married right now." Noblewoman: "Yes! I've finally escaped ruin!" Prince's Retainer: "Prince! I've found you!" Prince: "Oops, I've been found. I thought I had sneaked out of the castle unnoticed." Prince's Retainer: "Enough! A wicked prince like you must DIE!!" Prince: "Ugh…"

Keith: "Okay, maybe let's pause for a second."

Kagari: "The prince just got stabbed by his retainer."

Keith: "There's way too much going on right from the start. My brain can't keep up. What did we just watch?"

Sariel: "This is suspense disguised as a love story. Emma's going to cry."

Clavis: "Because of your terrifyingly convincing performance."

Sariel: "It was strange from the get-go. It felt like the prince was written specifically for you, Prince Clavis."

Clavis: "Because he was."

Clavis: "Kagari's completely flat delivery really highlighted the contrast with the prince's energy. Well done."

Kagari: "My performance was top-tier. Leave the noble lady role to me."

Keith: "Oh, so the retainer stabbed the prince because he was actually an assassin? Yeah, it is a suspense story."

Sariel: "The noblewoman's butler is actually the prince's half-brother. This isn't a romance anymore, is it?"

Clavis: "But aren't you just a little curious about how it ends?"

Keith: "W-Well, yeah. I guess with so much to comment on, it's kind of intriguing."

Kagari: "Who knows? Maybe the princess is actually into this kind of plot."

Sariel: "That's possible. She does love immersing herself in stories regardless of the genre."

Kagari: "Clavis, let's run it from the top. This time, I want to check how the puppets move."

Clavis: "Of course. You and I have the most scenes together, after all—let's take our time and polish it to perfection."

Clavis: "I'm sure the quality of the performance will move Emma to tears."

Kagari: "I want to see that."

Clavis: "Then we'll keep practicing until it's flawless!"

Sariel & Keith: "…………"

Sariel: "There's a lot I want to say about the script, but I don't want to kill his momentum."

Keith: "Yeah. Seeing them so fired up kind of makes me want to try even harder, too."

Keith: "After all, we all want to make Emma smile."

Sariel: "Just this once, I'll turn a blind eye to how ridiculous the plot is and join the rehearsal."

Keith: "You're pretty soft on Clavis, Sariel."

Sariel: "A leftover habit from when I used to be his tutor, perhaps."

→ Silvio, Azel, Yves, Leon's side

[verstappen-cult]

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS, LESTAPPEN.

PAIRING. max verstappen x female reader x charles leclerc.

SUMMARY — It's the day after the race in Las Vegas and Max and Charles wake up with a huge headache, two rings in their fingers and no idea of what happened the night before.

GWEN'S MESSAGE. this was requested by @piastrification! i'm so sorry it took me so long, but i had so much fun writing it! and i hope you like it. as always comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Max wakes up with an awful headache and very thirsty. He tries to adjust his vision to the sunlight but every time he tries to open his eyes, there’s a shooting pain in his temple. 

He groans, rolling around in bed. Next to him is Charles still sleeping on his belly, messy hair and something like confetti around him. 

Max can’t remember anything from last night. Well, he remembers going out with Charles, Lando, Daniel and Pierre and then a lot of shots and dancing and people shouting their names and then… nothing. 

“Fuck this.” He whispers and gets out of bed very slowly, feeling dizzy. 

He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and have a big glass of water before he passes out from dehydration. 

Max is filling a second glass when he sees it; a silver ring around his left ring finger. 

He does not wear rings. 

“Max?” Charles calls his name and Max walks back into the room with his heart hammering in his ears. 

“Did you give me this ring last night?” He asks even before Charles has time to properly wake up. 

“Uh?” The Monégasque says, sitting on the bed and looking confused at the hand Max has up in the air, showing him the piece of jewelry. “No?” Charles rubs his face with his left hand but stops halfway when he feels something on his ring finger. “What the fuck?” 

There is a silver ring, just like the one Max has, on his finger.

And that is not one of his rings because this has three little diamonds encrusted in it. 

“Max,” Charles breathes, a shiver running down his spine as he looks at his boyfriend. “What happened last night?

They look at each other with wide eyes, a million thoughts running through their heads. 

“I remember leaving the club with the boys and then everything goes black.” Charles gets out of bed to look for his phone because there must be something in there, but all he finds are five missed calls from Pierre and a lot, a lot, of messages from you on the group chat. 

“What’s wrong?” Max asks as he walks away to fill a glass of water for Charles. 

“Y/N is here,” He answers, showing him the phone and thanking him for the water with a kiss on the cheek. “She’s downstairs waiting for us with Lando.”

Max groans, falling back onto the bed. 

“I feel like we did something really stupid last night.”

“Shut up, we didn’t do anything.” Charles busies himself with looking for clothes in his suitcase, so he doesn’t have to think about last night. 

They should forget about last night. Last night didn’t happen. 

By the time they made it to the lobby, Max and Charles had agreed that they needed to talk to Lando before talking to you about the shit show that was last night. 

They may not know exactly what happened, but by the matching rings they know it’s nothing good.

However, they forget about it when they see you standing next to Lando wearing the most beautiful floral dress and your perfect smile. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Max says, taking off his sunglasses for a second to give you a peck on the lips. Then, he’s putting them back on. 

“How’s the hangover?” You tease them, feeling Charles' body tensing next to you. And you really want to laugh because you know exactly what happened thanks to Lando and a very detailed story. “What did you do last night?”

“Nothing,” Charles is quick to answer, looking at Lando and silently begging him to do something. But Lando just laughs. “Lando, can we talk for a second?”

“What do you need to talk to him about?” 

“Oh, just about something Dani asked us to do before he left last night.” Max lies and if it weren’t because you’re in a good mood and know why they are lying, you would feel angry. 

“Oh, but Dani’s right there.” You point behind his backs and they immediately turn around to find the Australian man talking on the phone. When he sees them, a big smile spreads over his face, giving thumbs up before going back to his conversation. 

“Now, why are you lying to me?” You bite your lip, trying to keep up with the show. “Did you do something I should know about?”

And then, they say at the same time:

“I swear we didn’t do anything, we went to sleep early!”

“We don’t remember what we did last night, okay?!”

Lando bursts out laughing, even bending down as he tries to breathe properly, which draws the attention of a few people around that slowly start to recognize them.

“Well, I guess I’m not needed here since you keep lying to my face.” You pretend to be hurt and it's not easy when all you want to do is laugh in their faces.

Max and Charles start talking over each other, trying to make you understand what is actually happening. 

“And then we woke up this morning with these!” Charles takes Max hand in his, showing their rings. “I swear to god we don’t know what happened.”

“We were so drunk.” Max looks at his feet, feeling embarrassed. He never drinks that much, but apparently last night was a special occasion. 

“Oh, but I know.”

They look at you, expectantly, surprised, confused, a mix of emotions on their faces. 

You take out your phone, looking for something before turning the device around so they are able to see the screen. 

“You got married.”

There on the screen is a picture of Max and Charles with an Elvis impersonator between them, holding his left hands up in the air showing their rings while Charles is holding up his phone with a picture of you, a drunken smile on both of their faces. 

You slide your finger to the left, and a video starts playing. 

You can hear Lando laughing while recording. “What are you doing?” He asks, walking closer to Charles who is looking down at the picture of you on his phone. 

“Baby, we got married!” He exclaims as Max wraps an arm around his waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. “She doesn’t answer. Why isn’t she answering… Are you mad, baby?”

Dani appears on the video, laughing his ass off as he takes the phone away. 

“You’re not on facetime, you idiot. It's a picture.” Pierre says from somewhere next to Lando, probably.

“Say hi to Y/N!” 

“Hi baby!” Charles really likes to call you baby when he’s drunk. 

“We got married!” Max says a little too loud, but doesn’t care and kisses Charles cheek. “Look, we have your ring right here.” He shows a silver ring similar to the one they have, the difference is that the diamond in the middle is slightly bigger. “Congratulations!”

The video ends with all of them laughing. 

There’s a minute of silence before Charles speaks. 

“Okay, it wasn’t that bad.”

“What!?” Max looks mortified. 

“Well, everyone knows that weddings in Las Vegas aren’t actually weddings.” Everyone looks at him at a loss of words, but he just keeps going. “We aren’t actually married.”

“Charles,” Lando laughs a little more. He’s definitely having the time of his life. “weddings in Vegas are very real. You are married.”

“No we’re not!” 

Max sighs, placing a hand on his boyfriend — husband’s shoulder. “Charlie, we are.” 

Charles gaps, immediately looking at you. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t know!” 

You can’t help it anymore, so you laugh. 

“Oh my god, you should see your faces!”

Max and Charles look at each other, and then at you. They don’t have a clue about what is happening anymore. Not since last night. 

“You’re not… mad?” 

“Well,” You wipe the tears from your eyes, shoving your phone back in your purse. “I was at first, now i just find it hilarious.” 

“I’m so sorry, schat.” Max runs his hand through his hair, looking sheepishly at you with a pout on his pretty lips. 

“It is your fault!” Charles says out of nowhere, pointing a finger in Lando’s face. “Why didn’t you stop us?”

Lando raises his hands in surrender. “I tried!” 

“You should’ve tried harder!”

“Max promised to let me win if I let you get married!” 

“Max!” Charles says, offended. 

“I won’t do that.”

You shake your head, patting Max’s cheek lightly, condescendingly. “You will if you want me to forgive you.”

[kainuhsblog]

Mr. Choi from 2A • Jiung Choi

prompt         More Than Words Elementary gets the surprise of a lifetime when the kids figure out that the two kindest teachers for 4th and 5th grade are married. pairing          teacher!jiung x fem!reader genre           school teachers, established relationship, fluff warnings      mentions of food, playful banter, school word count    3,796 (this story wrote itself) a/n                 hi! i'm back! I have something written this time! jiung is my ultimate bias, so i’ve been itching to write something for him. please note that this fic will be told in 3rd pov, but kind of centric to none of the main characters, but to one of jiung’s students, emma! 

want more piwon posts from me? check out my fake texts here and here!

There are many things in the world that Emma loves. Her parents, for one –  obviously. They spoil her endlessly, and even gave her a little brother, so she loves them. 

Emma also loves trucks. She loves them simply because her dad always lifts her up to get in the thing. He even has to do a little stretch to get in himself.  Big trucks that make even her dad seem small are always fun. 

Third on the list – not that it has a particular order – will have to go to the bakery near her house. Ms. Lim makes the best cupcakes known to man, and her mom loves them just as much as she does, so they like to splurge on them every once in a while. 

Fourth; the quaint burger place lodged in an alleyway on that busy street Emma always forgets the name of. Every once in a while, her mom and dad take her (and her little brother, now) to the place, and she always manages to see her uncle manning the bar. She wonders if he works there. 

And last, but certainly not least; her 4th grade teacher Mr. Choi. Mr. Choi never enters the room without a fond smile on his face as he greets the class in the morning. He never lets them leave without some words of praise when they leave the class in the afternoon. 

Mr. Choi is very attentive, explaining things a million times over for everyone to understand (who knew there were different methods to learning how to multiply big numbers?) and is very interactive with his class. Mr. Choi is probably the kindest person Emma knows. 

If someone were to come up to her and shove a microphone and a camera in her face (because people do that now) and ask her who she thought the kindest person in the world was, her first answer would definitely be Mr. Choi. That’s just how good he is. 

Anyways, before the author starts her spiel on the guy, let’s get into the actual story – shall we?

The list of things that Emma loves in this world differ depending on what day you ask her. Her constants will always be her parents (and brother), trucks, Ms. Lim’s bakery, the burger place, and Mr. Choi from class 2A. 

Lately though, Emma thinks that a new constant might add to her list of things she loves in this world. The thought came to her mind halfway through the previous semester. 

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

At the beginning of her first semester in fourth grade, a new teacher for fifth grade arrived in bubbly fashion. With beautiful kind eyes and a charming smile; the new teacher tumbled her way into the lives of everyone at More Than Words Elementary School. 

Emma was one of the people who only entertained things within her bubble. As a bubble dweller, the only things she knew dwelled in her bubble with her. She didn’t know anything about new staff or teachers unless someone entered her bubble to tell her. Which is how she found out about the new teacher in the first place. 

She had many friends within the school who greeted her in the mornings, and her cousin Shelby was friends with her next door neighbor Tommy. Those two always brought her the gossip from their fifth grade circle. 

They were all hanging out on the playground for recess when Shelby mentioned it to Emma. Something along the lines of the nicest teacher ever just came to their school or something. Emma excused Shelby’s comments because the elder didn’t have Mr. Choi in fourth grade. 

Tommy described the woman like she hung the stars in the sky every single night for him to look at and ponder her. Shelby told him to write a book if he wanted to be that sappy. Emma laughed even if she didn’t get the reference all too well. 

For the rest of that week, the new teacher was all her fifth grade friends seemed to want to talk about. She stopped listening to them halfway through. Mr. Choi was the nicest teacher ever, so she wanted to see his competition with her own two eyes. 

If someone was listening to her thoughts, then they made quick plans, because the next day called for a multitude of rain and the absence of half of the students in her small school. Emma still went to school because her mom and dad had jobs to go to despite the rain, and her grandma was out of the country so no one her parents trusted could watch their kids. 

She walked happily to her class, thinking of the pastries she would smell in the afternoon (as it was the day her and her mom went to the bakery) when she spotted a beautiful woman standing outside her class door talking to Mr. Choi. Her smile stretched like the sun on the horizon as it rose in the morning. A warmth like no other had hit Emma the moment she saw it. 

Emma slowed her pace as she neared the classroom, and she heard the familiar words of reassurance from her teacher to the lady in front of him to ease her worries about whatever she stressed about. The kind words sounded a bit different in Emma’s ears though. 

Emma greeted the adults like she was taught, and both Mr. Choi and the teacher greeted her with similar waves of kindness. The other teacher even knew her name. Why would the other teacher know her name?

Emma tilted her head in confusion and stood before the two teachers. The lady laughed and nudged Mr. Choi to get him to notice. Then, the teacher moved her left hand from the books she clung so tightly to her chest and extended it to the little girl before her. 

“Hi Emma Kang, I’m the new fifth grade teacher Ms. (last name). It’s very nice to meet you!” The teacher introduced, and the shock couldn’t come fast enough as it morphed Emma’s face. 

The lady before her was the kind teacher Shelby and Tommy told her about. Emma shook Ms. (last name)’s hand, feeling the familiar weight of an engagement band (her aunt Nina had just gotten engaged last month, so she knows how it feels on someone’s hand), and told the teacher that it was nice to meet her as well. 

Turns out, Mr. Choi and Ms. (last name) were discussing the merge of their classrooms for the day so that they can watch movies and play games. None of the other fifth grade teachers wanted to do such things with their classes, (as it was still the beginning of the semester) but Mr. Choi thought it would be fun to let his kids relax for one day. 

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Rainy days had now meant joint classes after the success of the first one that day, and Emma realized that she hoped for rainy days a lot more, so that she can see Ms. (last name) again and again and again. This was when she thought of the possibility of a new constant on her list. 

Emma thinks that Ms. (last name) felt like the sun, especially when she brightened up the classrooms. Ms. (last name) was extra involved in just about everything, and Emma found herself wanting to join a few things just to see the bubbly teacher again. 

Now, you (as the reader) might be wondering where I’ll fit the synopsis into this story, and I’m getting there. Anyways, back to the story. 

Emma also notices how much livelier Mr. Choi seemed to get whenever Ms. (last name) would come around their area, for rainy days or not. The two teachers seemed really close, like they were friends before working together. Well, that’s how Emma saw it. Shelby and Tommy seemed to disagree though. 

The two fifth graders often talked about how they coax small bits of information out of their homeroom teacher whenever they all can’t seem to understand a particularly hard subject (which is usually math.) Ms. (last name) never got into great detail about a lot of stuff, but she always talked about her fiance with a sense of “love” and “comfort”. 

Emma knew about those feelings and those words, (she’s 9 for crying out loud) but no one ever seemed to explain the concept of love to her in a way where she understood or related to it, so topics like these had her confused.  When she asked what that had to do with anything, Shelby exclaimed that she had a feeling that Mr. Choi and Ms. (last name) were a couple. 

Emma sat there for a long while trying to see things from her cousin’s point of view. Sure, they were friendly and got along well, but a couple? They didn’t seem like a couple. She’s seen a few couples in her nine years on this earth, and her teachers don’t act as gross as those couples. 

Besides, they both arrive in separate cars. From the couples Emma has seen, they usually arrive in the same car, do they not? Her mom and dad are almost always in the same vehicle. Aunt Nina and her fiance Sam never leave without each other at events. Uncle Darren and Aunt Lily only have one car. They drop Shelby to school in it everyday. 

Tommy and Shelby bickered back and forth whilst Emma was left with the most confusing theory of her life. 

Emma decided that day that there was no way Mr. Choi and Ms. (last name) were a couple. Well, that was until dinnertime, when she decided to ask the one couple she constantly has to see. 

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

“Mom, dad, can people be a couple even if they don’t hug and hold hands and kiss and arrive at places in the same car?” She asked them once her food was graced and her mom told her to dig in. 

Both of her parents stopped their utensils from reaching their mouths to look at their daughter, seeing her staring back at them with a curious glint in her eyes. 

“Sweetie, I think we’re gonna need more context than that.” Her mom answered. 

“Your mom’s right, princess. What brought this on so suddenly?” Her dad added on. 

“Well, you guys know my favorite teacher Mr. Choi right?” She started off, watching her parents put down their eating utensils to give her their undivided attention. 

“Yes we do, what about him?” Her dad asked. 

“And you guys know the pretty teacher I told you about a while ago? Ms. (last name)?” She inquired. 

“Yes we do sweetheart.” Her mom answered, picking up her son’s spoon to help him eat his rice. 

“Okay, so today at recess I mentioned to Shelby and Tommy how I thought the teachers were friends before working together because of how well they seem to just – what’s the word I’m looking for?” 

“Coexist?” 

“No not that one … although that one is really good, thanks mom.” 

“Of course!” 

“Cooperate then?” Her dad chimed in, finally picking his utensil up. 

“Oh yes that word! Thank you dad, you’re so smart! Anyways, yes I mentioned it to them, and then Shelby said something about how she thinks they’re a couple? So then I sat there to think about it and that doesn’t make sense? How are they a couple when they don’t kiss and hug and hold hands and go everywhere together and use the same car and have kids?” Emma rambled, getting more confused than ever as she’s explaining it to her parents. 

“Maybe they don’t act that way because kids are present, princess.” Her dad supplied. 

“Dad, you and mom were literally kissing in the kitchen … with me present!” Emma rebutted. 

“That’s because you’re our kid. There’s a difference when it’s your own kid,” Her mom informed. 

“And besides, they work together don’t they? Why act like a couple at work? That’s not very professional.” Her mom continued. 

“You can’t do stuff like that at work?” Emma asked incredulously. 

“No you can’t Emma.” Her dad replied. 

“Wow, you learn something new everyday. What about the car thing then, they’re married and don’t come to work together? That’s so odd. You guys ride to work together all the time.” Emma questioned. 

“Emma first of all, not all couples are married,” Her mom told her, ignoring the gasp of disbelief that escapes her nine year old. 

“Secondly, they probably don’t even live together. Of course they’ll come to work in different cars.” Her mom continued. 

Emma’s shocked beyond words, her brother Eric wasn't paying attention, just eating his food and replaying the opening for power rangers in his mind as he ignored them. Her dad’s just thinking about how all of this could’ve been avoided if they just gave her electronics and discovered the weird stuff on the internet in the first place. He pushed the thought from his mind though, his wife said no so he sticks beside her. 

“Wait, so you’re telling me that couples aren’t married and don’t live together and can’t act gross and work?” Emma asked. 

“Your Aunt Nina and her fiance Sam aren’t married, and they’re a couple.” Her dad answered. 

“They’re practically married.” Emma replied.

“Wait, but do you guys think they’re a couple? An unmarried one who doesn't live together?” Emma followed up. 

She saw her mom and dad rack their brains to see if they remembered anything out of the ordinary between the fourth and fifth grade teachers that night. And then she heard them agree with her crazy claim. 

The next day, when she took Shelby’s side in the argument, their conversations shifted forever. The three friends had made it their new mission to find out if their teachers were really together. 

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

In between that time, the semester had ended, and the long awaited break had begun. Her mom and dad finally sat her down and told her about the different types of couples and all that jazz. They also took her to see her grandparents, where she stayed with all of her cousins for two weeks. 

Emma, Shelby and Tommy met regularly to talk about their random findings, even during their break. Nothing was bigger than the time Emma saw them both at Ms. Lim’s bakery though. The two teachers didn’t notice her, and she didn’t try to get noticed as she saw them share a slice of cheesecake and basically smiled at each other for five minutes. 

Through it all though, the mission seemed to be leading them practically nowhere. The new semester started with Shelby and Tommy telling Emma how Ms. (last name) came back with a new ring on her finger, signifying that she finally got married. 

Tommy told her to check Mr. Choi’s hands to see if he had a ring on as well to confirm their suspicions. Mr. Choi always had rings on his fingers though, so that plan was fruitless. 

For days on end, Emma tried to figure out if there was a new ring on Mr. Choi’s finger, and for days on end it seemed as if nothing was out of the ordinary. 

Just as Emma was about to give up though, the answers to their questions fell right into her lap. 

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

It was a rainy Thursday, and like all rainy days, Emma gets dropped off to school earlier than usual. Emma told her parents goodbye at the entrance of the school, watching her dad’s truck drive off with her mom waving at her wildly from the window. 

Emma began to turn around to head inside before hearing the familiar purr of her teacher’s SUV pulling into the parking lot. She then stopped fully once she saw her teacher help Ms. (last name) out of the car?!?!!?!?! 

Mr. Choi and Ms. (last name) just came out of the same car. Mr. Choi is helping Ms. (last name) with her bags. Mr. Choi – OH MY GOODNESS DID MR. CHOI JUST KISS MS. (LAST NAME)’S FOREHEAD? were the thoughts that ran through Emma’s mind once she saw what transpired. 

Emma wanted to stand there and rack her brain to find the sense in all of what had happened, but the teachers were both coming towards the entrance? Oh my goodness, Emma Kang. Go and run into a hole right now. 

Emma picked up her pace and starts to walk away, but the warm tilt of a harmonious tone traveled to her ears as Ms. (last name) greeted her from her walk toward the door. Emma stopped like a deer in headlights, and turned slowly to greet the two teachers. 

My goodness, they’re even sharing an umbrella. Emma Kang, for the first time in her life, just wants to not be a curious kid. Having to see this from her favorite teachers isn’t good for her psyche. 

“Emma Kang, it’s been a while. How are you doing this morning? Are you ready for our rainy day movie session? I didn’t expect the rain to happen so quickly into the semester, but man am I excited for our class to get together again and have some fun. Do you want to help Mr. Choi and I choose the first movie? We’ve been arguing about the lineup all –” 

“(First name), you’re rambling.” Mr. Choi interrupted, and only one thing entered Emma’s mind like a blaring siren once she saw Ms. (last name) stop and giggle about it, apologizing to the kid. 

“You two are married.” Emma blurted out in the midst of Ms. (last name)’s apology, causing the two teachers to freeze up at the accusation – no, the declaration. 

They both rubbed their necks in tandem; Ms. (last name) laughing nervously and suddenly finding interest in the school motto placed on the wall beside them. Mr. Choi looked at his wife, and then looked at his (now unfortunate) brightest student.

“You two are married right? Mr. Choi kissed your forehead and you guys got out of the same car and you guys are even holding pinkies over the handle of Ms. (last name)’s bag.” Emma asked, pointing out her deductions to the newlyweds before her. 

The air stilled once she continued on with her findings, almost laughing at the fact that they immediately let go of each others’ pinkies. Mr. Choi told Emma to follow them, walking from the entrance and to the classroom of 2A. 

Emma watched as they both started to unpack the bags, placing stuff here and there and working together like they’ve been doing this for years. Emma watched a new level of their cooperation unfold on that rainy thursday. 

After they had set up everything, Ms. (last name) walked over to Mr. Choi, and pulled at his blazer to get his attention. They had a discussion with wide eyes and ragged whispers for about five minutes before Mr. Choi raised his hands in defeat. That’s when Emma noticed that he forwent the rings he usually donned, one simple band on his left ring finger catching the light in the room. 

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag now.” Ms. (last name) said after a few moments of awkward silence. 

Emma’s eyes widened to the size of saucers once she realized that they were admitting to her declarations. 

“You guys really are married?” She carefully asked. 

“Yes, yes we are. We recently tied the knot during the break.” Mr. Choi answers, stifling his laughter once he sees confusion slide across his student’s face. 

“What does tying a knot have to do with your marriage?” Emma confusingly questioned.

“It’s an expression. One of the many ways of saying you got married without actually saying it.” Ms. (last name) replies, pinching her husband for laughing. 

“Oh.” Is all Emma said in response. 

The adults studied her face for any odd reactions from Emma Kang, who started to have another mental battle with herself. 

“We actually wanted to tell you and the other kids about it later on.” Mr. Choi supplies helplessly. 

That didn’t seem to work though, as Emma continued to just … blankly stare at them. 

“Are you upset, Emma Kang?” Ms. (last name) asked after almost three minutes of heavy silence. 

Then Emma blinks a few times, looking up at them with something close to joy swimming in her eyes. Mr. Choi and Ms. (last name) let out the breath they didn’t even know they were holding. 

“Upset? This is the best news I’ve gotten all school year. Why would I be upset when the two nicest people in the world are married?” Emma exclaims. 

“I thought you’d be upset that we didn’t say anything.” Mr. Choi replied. 

“I thought you had a crush on Mr. Choi, to be honest.” Ms. (last name) replied at the same time. 

“I’m nine.” Emma deadpanned. 

“When I was nine, I had a crush on my music teacher. I don’t see how that excuse is relevant.” Ms. (last name) said. 

“(First name) you were just an odd kid.” Mr. Choi followed up. 

Emma chuckled when she saw Ms. (last name) hit Mr. Choi on the arm for his comment. 

“You who was crushing over Sam from ‘Danny Phantom’ at that exact age, puh-lease.” Ms. (last name) accused. 

“At least she and I were closer in age than you and your old shriveled up music teacher.” Mr. Choi responded. 

“Sam isn’t even real.” Ms. (last name) said.

“Neither was your chance with that wrinkly old music teacher.” Mr. Choi replied. 

“He was 25 oh my goodness Jiung, stop calling him old.” Ms. (last name) exclaimed. 

“Even worse.” Mr. Choi replied. 

The adults stopped their playful banter when they heard Emma cracking up from her seat. 

“You guys are the sweetest.” She replied once she stopped laughing, shocked at the fond looks that stretched their smiles wide at her.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨ 

The rainy day ended up with Emma harboring their secret for them, a lot of movies, and a kid crashing from a sugar rush after sneakily eating too much candy. 

Later that semester, the teachers decided to tell their class separately about their marriage, which breaks another spout of gossip between Emma, Shelby and Tommy. The news spread through More Than Words Elementary like wildfire that day. 

Questions were thrown at the couple for weeks to come after that, and a new quest (bet) was formed between the kid trio. Guessing when they’d have their first kid. 

Emma now helped the kind teachers set up for movie days whenever it rained, and a new constant had been added to Emma’s long list of things she loved.  Her parents (and brother), trucks, Ms. Lim’s bakery, the burger place, Ms. (last name) and Mr. Choi from Class 2A. That was her list of constants.

[comatosebunny09]

The way you write Sylus…so accurate like wth 😍 I love how you’re exploring him! Just putting this idea out there, simply because I love this trope (and if it inspires you even better) but the amnesia trope would hit so hard with Sylus x reader… but imagine it’s Sylus who forgets about her for a wild few moments…days or months 👀 and yet remembers ms.hunter just fine 😭 i mean the angst….im sorry but i cannot…but i wanna think about it because ow

Kieran and Luke really trying to remind Sylus that reader is his right hand, that they’re super important to him, but Sylus can’t quite grasp the connection…not that he doesn’t feel anything 👀 oh he feels something. But it’s confusing because how could he not remember someone as beautiful as you, can’t quite grasp how he could forget someone like you…

He finds familiarly in ms.hunter…of course he would, how could he not you think, so you spiral more, perhaps even accept this is how it was supposed to be, in fact it might be better that way, maybe it’s what you deserve for ever thinking he could be yours or would like you the same…

You try help him remember, with the help of Luke and Kieran, but it’s always surface level, you feel embarrassed sharing those small moments that meant more to you, what if had misread them, you don’t want to mislead Sylus, you never knew his true feelings, besides there’s ms.hunter too…

He laughs with her, remembers her, because of there shared history…you never could have come between that, this just proves it’s…you’re forgettable, only a small part in his story in the grand scheme of things, your storyline in his life might have run it’s course now…

…so maybe you leave, maybe you resign. Sylus doesn’t understand, it hurts, his heart, his body…you telling him you’re leaving is painful to him, but you’re just a loyal employee right? He shouldn’t stop you from moving on if you wish…even if every part of him wants to stop you…but it’s the right thing to do, being a good boss, maybe he’s different now he can’t remember too, shouldn’t force you to stay…

But he’s confused because ms.hunter has told him you were special to him, he trusts ms.hunter, doesn’t believe she would mislead him, but maybe she got it wrong, maybe you are special to him but it’s not reciprocated so even if every bone in his body wants to beg you to stay, he doesn’t stop you…

So you leave…

Maybe months pass, maybe it’s been a year…does Sylus end up remembering? Maybe comes searching for you…maybe he never does

💔💔

You are so big-brained for this, honeybun.

This is giving The Vow, minus them being married. But damn it all, retrograde amnesia has impeccable timing.

Right when you and Sylus started to reach a pivotal point in your partnership—your relationship—he lost any recollection of you.

You’re already grieving. Already beating yourself up. The person who’s been almost invincible to you went down, and you couldn’t be there to shield him. There’s a glimmer of hope when he cracks his eyes open after days of being unconscious.

You’re holding his hand, knelt at his bedside, tears brimming in your eyes, a watery smile on your face.

He’s a little groggy, voice smoky in his throat, and you help him sit up against his headboard. He studies the faces around the room—Luke, Kieran, Ms. Hunter. But when his gaze swivels back around to you, he looks confused. It’s like he’s looking right through you rather than at you.

He snatches his hand away from yours. Who the hell are you, and how did you get into his house? His base?

The room is rife with tension. Everyone feels the shift in the atmosphere.

“Who are you?” Sylus asks, halfway vexed.

You’re stricken with something cold. You laugh anxiously, figuring he’s playing a cruel joke. “Come on, boss-man. Don’t play games like that with me. Not now.”

He couldn’t be more serious. He stares at you impassively, not a lick of humor on his face.

The false amusement drops from your features. Your stomach lurches.

Everyone springs into action, trying to lighten the mood. Still thinking he’s playing a sick, cruel joke.

“C’mon, boss! You know her! She’s your right hand!” says Luke, though his voice cracks the slightest bit as if he’s also disbelieving that this is all just a terrible nightmare.

“Yeah! She’s been with you for years!” chimes in Kieran. The distress in his voice is also noticeable.

Emcee smiles nervously, doing her best to lighten the load. She smooths a shaky hand down your rigid back to soothe you before taking hold of Sylus’ hand between her smaller ones, directing his attention to her. He doesn’t snatch away this time, gaze softening when it descends on her.

“Sylus. Do you…remember anything?”

He gazes at his lap for a moment, pensive. “I recognize you, sweetie. The twins. But this woman…” His eyes flit to you. And where their intensity would normally light a fire in your belly, it turns your blood to ice. “I haven’t the foggiest who she is.”

The four of you spend the next few months trying to get him to remember you thereafter. But it’s of no use.

He tries. He really does. He remembers vague things before his concussion. Feels like he should be more familiar with you, given your history as explained by the twins. To him, you’re like a specter. Someone who’s there, but not really.

You start to spiral, too. You still stick by his side, stepping in where you can. But you’re still a foreign concept to him, given he’s used to working alone. He gets snappy with you a few times, but you still persevere in hopes that maybe someday, he’ll remember.

You get so desperate for him to remember, you try everything. You take him to places where small sparks of your relationship started to flicker, long before your feelings were revealed. You talk about minute things that could hopefully jog his memory. It’s embarrassing to you, to house such small, seemingly insignificant things in your heart about him. But you’ll do anything to get the Sylus who started to show a glimmer of passion towards you back.

You even let the twins convince you to kiss him. To reenact the catalyst of your relationship. And you do, one day in his office when he’s unassuming. You pour everything into the union of your mouths. When you pull away, he looks shocked, and for a moment, you think maybe you’ve reignited something. But he gives you that blank stare again after asking, “What was that for,” and you’re beginning to lose hope.

Eventually, he feels so terrible for not remembering you that he makes love to you out of pity. He might not know who you are, but everyone says he should. And he surprisingly feels terrible, watching you run yourself ragged, trying to get him to remember you.

At some point, the grief is too much to bear. He might never get his memories back. He won’t ever look at you the same, and it fucking hurts. So, you run away.

Everyone advises you against it. Everyone fights for you to stay, Emcee being the most vehement about it. You loved him through it all once. She’s sure you can do it again. She’s convinced you can capture his heart all over again.

But you’re not. The way he looks at you now can’t compare to how he looks at his precious dove. He humors you, yes. But he recalls the feelings he has for Emcee as strongly as he does the previous night. To him, you’re like an annoying gnat buzzing around that he just…tolerates.

You don’t want to complicate things more than already have been. So you leave. After six months of fighting for a place back at his side, you leave. And maybe you’re a coward for jumping ship. Maybe he’ll remember once you’re long gone, and maybe he’ll do everything to find you.

For now, the burden of a heavy heart is too much to shoulder. It’s almost as bad as the beginning of your relationship when you’d wordlessly pined for him while he was oblivious to your affections.

Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe he was meant to forget you all along. You should’ve never tried to meddle with fate to begin with.

[wonryllis]

ᨓ ENHYPEN FINDING YOUR WRITING ACCOUNT OF THEM.

. . ──𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽.

﹙ 𝒘𝐞𝐛 ⭑ 𝒅𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝓁𝓈. ﹚ enhypen discovering your top secret. fem!r. fluff, crack maybe a bit requested. wordcount` 664. アーカイブ ARCHIVE?

𝗵𝗲𝗲𝘀𝗲𝘂𝗻𝗴 he would be so giddy, and embarrassed and shy to find out that you write about him, boy is too flustered about the fact that you make fan content to even question anything else. it'd take a few days for him to let it all settle into his mind and then oh my god it's hell, he'll look up your account secretly even though you told him not to and then he'll keep saying random things he picked from you pieces to tease you. "my pretty doll, i will burn the world to save you"

𝗷𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘀𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗴 he is so so so sooooo embarrassed like he'll forget whatever he was up to when you accidentally let it spill that your latest post of him was doing so well. he will simply ask if you write about him and when you hesitantly admit it he'll be like okay great i hope you account does well??? he loves being the one you write for but he doesn't want to embarrass you by speaking any more of it. although from time to time he will ask for some updates on how it's been going.

𝗷𝗮𝗲𝘆𝘂𝗻 he is so happy you don't understand the level at which he is like platinum gem rank happy. he'll immediately sit with you beg you to show him your account and let him read through the fics, even the other members' he's just so curious he can't sit still. he'll read one with like heeseung as a secret agent and then tell you he would have been a better suit for it. then he'll read a spiderman one you wrote for him and then ask you if you wanna try the upside down kiss.

𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗻 he stopped working, system crashed. unable to believe for days that you got a fan account about him and on top of that you write things about him. thinks he's dreaming until you speak of it again and he's like you weren't joking?? will ask you things about it like what you write and how it works, if people like his fics and what aus you write him in and why you think of him as fitting for an au. a literal question bank, will inquire about every little detail but never look it up himself.

𝘀𝗲𝗼𝗻𝘄𝗼𝗼 he's like in disbelief but like in a happy really elated way so excited to see you account, your aesthetic, your follower count, your writing style. just about everything and he's so supportive like you go girl, he'll also most probably make an account himself and follow you. commenting on each fic and sending asks like 'guess who baby (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)' he will also look through other accounts to come up with better advice to grow you space. will save the pieces you write about him to reread.

𝗷𝘂𝗻𝗴𝘄𝗼𝗻 the happiest kitty in the world, will leave everything literally drop it the second you tell him you got a writing account of him whether it's accidental or intentional. ask you the username and read all of your pieces about him in one sitting. definitely will get jealous to see others you wrote for and more if you someone else has more fics than him. will immediately give you new ideas like plan out a whole plot and then tell you, it's about him and you in an alternate universe so you need to write it.

𝗿𝗶𝗸𝗶 he is immediately teasing you to cover up the embarrassment he feels, like an internal struggle of why should he be the one embarrassed when you are the one who write fanfiction about him. will take your phone from you open your account and read it aloud, though halfway in he'll genuinely get invested especially if it's a social media au, going 'm not like that!' every chapter and when he's caught up to the latest one, he'll bug you to reveal what happens next, after all it's his story!

taglist ( open. ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @eeunoia @nxzz-skz @shawnyle @enhaswirlds @enhasnuggles

[cloudyluun]

Rose & Torn | Patreon Blurb

Wondered what I post on Patreon? Curious? Nosy? Need a little push before you subscribe? Okay babe, I got you. This one time… you get the full blurb. For free. Like the spoiled princess you are 💅

Rose & Thorn Summary: You’re just trying to write your silly little stories in peace when Harry Styles—yes, that Harry Styles, with the long hair, soft sweater, and rings for days—walks into your favorite café and steals the seat across from you.

What follows?

Flirty banter

Warm chai (that he hates, rude)

Painfully soft glances

And him saying, “I was gonna write lyrics, but now I kinda just wanna write about you.”

Yes, it’s fluffy. Yes, you might blush. Yes, I wrote it at 1AM while thinking, What if Harry fell in love with me while I was just trying to mind my business???

And you can read the entire thing right now 🫶 Just this once, it’s not behind a paywall.

But next week? We’re back to secret club energy 💌

🔗 [Click here] or read below!

The bell over the café door jingled, but you didn’t look up.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard, pausing as you squinted at the blinking cursor on your screen. You were halfway through a sentence, one you’d rewritten three times already, and it still didn’t sound right. You sighed softly, thumbed the edge of your coffee cup, and took another sip of your now-lukewarm latte. Background hums of milk steamers and indie music blended with the occasional murmur of conversation.

This place—Rose & Thorn—had become your usual over the last few months. It wasn’t big, but it had high ceilings, vintage tile floors, plants dangling from copper rods, and deep wooden booths along the back wall. Enough character to feel lived-in, but quiet enough to focus. You loved it here. Not for any grand reason. Just... the peace of it.

You didn’t notice him at first.

Not until the barista stuttered a bit while asking for a name to write on the cup.

Then you glanced up. Casual, curious.

And saw him.

Tall. Slim. Hair long, dark golden brown, pulled half-up but some pieces falling around his face. A soft, oversized green sweater. Black trousers. Rings. A slow smile that looked both unsure and entirely too charming as he gave his name—Harry.

Harry.

Your brain didn’t immediately click. Not until he turned, waiting for his drink, and you caught the sharp line of his jaw. The eyes. The way he looked around the room like he wasn’t trying to be noticed but always would be.

Harry Styles.

You blinked.

You knew it was him. Of course you did. You weren’t living under a rock. But your mind scrambled to catch up with the realness of him. He looked... softer than you expected. A little sleepy, like maybe he hadn’t meant to stay out this late or wake up this early. And he was definitely looking for a place to sit.

There were two open booths. One next to the window, and one—yours.

He glanced toward the front, then toward you.

And started walking over.

You looked back at your laptop fast, pretending to type.

“Sorry,” a voice said, low and warm and just slightly hesitant. “This seat taken?”

You looked up. And there he was, closer now. Tall enough that the light from the window hit his cheekbone just right. Kind enough eyes that it made you forget how unfairly good-looking he was.

“Oh—no,” you said, heart skipping weirdly in your chest. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

He sat, adjusting the chair with a quiet scrape. You tried to act normal. Just some girl in a café. Writing. Not freaking out. Not staring.

He took out a small notebook, leather-bound and worn at the edges, and a pen. No phone. No entourage. Just him, like this was his usual spot too.

A minute passed. Then five.

You tried to focus on your sentence again, but your thoughts were a mess. You could feel him. Not in a weird way, just... there. He had that kind of presence. Big but easy. Confident but not loud. And he was humming under his breath.

You snuck a glance.

He was scribbling something in his notebook. Brow furrowed a little. Lips parted. His tea sat untouched.

Your stomach did a small flip.

And then he looked up at you.

Caught.

You froze.

He smiled, slow and crooked, like he knew.

“Whatcha working on?” he asked, voice still soft. Like he didn’t want to break the quiet of the place too much.

You hesitated. “Just writing.”

“Mm,” he nodded. “Fiction?”

“Sort of.”

He tilted his head. “Sort of?”

“I write articles,” you explained. “But sometimes I write other things. Like... bits of stories. Stuff that’ll never see the light of day.”

Harry smiled wider. “I like that. Secret stories.”

You laughed under your breath. “Not on purpose. Just... never finished anything I felt was good enough.”

He leaned forward a little, interest plain in his eyes. “Can I ask what this one’s about?”

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard again. “A girl. She works in a little café. She’s just... trying to keep her life from falling apart.”

Harry looked around. “She work here?”

You shook your head. “Different place. Messier. Bad coffee.”

“Sounds real,” he said, nodding seriously.

You grinned.

He stuck out a hand. “I’m Harry.”

“I know.”

He laughed, and it was a real one—quiet but warm, like it came from his chest. You liked that laugh.

You gave your name.

He repeated it softly. Then again. Like he was trying it out.

“I like that,” he said. “Suits you.”

You looked away, heat crawling up your neck.

This didn’t feel like some celebrity moment. It didn’t feel like you were talking to him, the Harry you’d seen in music videos or awards shows or late-night interviews. It just felt like... a moment. A strangely quiet, perfectly normal moment with a man who was making you smile too easily.

He nodded at your screen. “Can I read it?”

Your heart leapt. “God, no. It’s—just fragments.”

He leaned back, hands up. “Alright. Maybe next time.��

Next time?

You raised an eyebrow. “You planning on stealing my booth?”

He shrugged. “I think I just did.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too much. “Okay, but I get the plug socket. It’s war if you touch my charger.”

“I’d never,” he said solemnly.

He took a sip of his tea, finally. Grimaced.

“Too hot?”

“No, just… chai.”

You laughed.

“You don’t like chai?”

“It tastes like someone dropped a candle in milk.”

You choked on your latte. “That’s oddly specific.”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, still grinning. “It’s accurate, though.”

You shook your head. “Blasphemy.”

For the next twenty minutes, neither of you wrote. Or pretended to. The conversation was easy, weirdly so. You talked about little things—books, music, your mutual distaste for small talk. He asked you if you believed in ghosts. You asked him if he always talked to strangers in cafés.

“Not always,” he said. “Just the pretty ones.”

You stared at him.

He held your gaze, no smirk this time. Just honesty. That kind that didn’t feel rehearsed or smooth.

“I mean it,” he said. “You walked in and I... I couldn’t stop looking.”

“I was already here,” you said, trying to make your voice steady.

He blinked. “Wasn’t I here first?”

You laughed, a little breathless. “No.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“Means I really didn’t see anything else. Just you.”

Silence stretched. Not awkward. Just... tight. Charged.

You looked down at your cup.

He tapped a ringed finger on the table. “Can I be honest?”

You glanced back up.

“I was trying to think of something to write when I came in,” he said. “Lyrics or whatever. Been stuck for a while. But now I’m thinking I just want to write about this.”

You blinked. “This?”

He nodded once. “You. Today. The way you looked when I sat down—like you were about to vanish if I stared too hard.”

You swallowed. “That’s... intense.”

“I know,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He smiled, softer this time.

You looked at your screen. Then back at him. “Can I be honest too?”

“Please.”

“This is the weirdest day of my life.”

He laughed. “Fair.”

You hesitated, then added, “But also kinda the best?”

Harry tilted his head, curls shifting. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked down, then back up again, eyes a little shy now. “Would it be okay if I asked for your number?”

Your heart thudded. You didn’t answer right away, but only because your brain had short-circuited.

He waited.

You reached for his phone. Typed it in.

Handed it over.

He took it gently. Smiled as he saved it.

Then he looked at you again, really looked.

“I’ll text you,” he said. “Soon. Like... tonight.”

You smiled. “Looking forward to it.”

He paused like he wanted to say something else. Then stood, tea in one hand, notebook in the other.

“I should go. Leave you to your writing.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to ask him to stay.

As he turned, he paused at the doorway. Looked back. Gave you a smile that made your stomach twist in the best way.

And then he was gone.

You stared at the empty chair for a moment, stunned.

Then turned back to your laptop.

And started writing again.

But this time, the words came easy.

Because now, your story had a beginning.

If you liked this and wanna see more blurbs like it every week (plus some ✨spicy✨ ones), you can subscribe here 💌

[tomkaulitzssgirl]

can you write about how Y/N has hyperactivity, which is why she often has an excess of energy, is easily nervous and it is difficult for her to focus, while Tom is her opposite

STILL | TOM KAULITZ

i hope i described it well🫶🏻

it wasn’t always easy being inside your own head.

people called you “high-energy” like it was a compliment — and sometimes it was. sometimes it felt good to be the one with a million ideas, the spark, the excitement. but other times, it was too much.

your thoughts moved fast. too fast. like a playlist that never stopped skipping songs, jumping from one to the next before the chorus even finished. you bounced your knee without meaning to. you bit your nails. tapped your fingers. got halfway through stories before your brain switched tracks entirely.

and focus? forget it. even when you wanted to slow down, wanted to listen, your attention had other plans. you’d start talking and realize you were already three topics away from where you began. and it left you drained. overstimulated. nervous, even when nothing was wrong.

that’s why tom was… everything.

he was still. effortlessly so.

he moved like time didn’t apply to him — like he knew the world would catch up eventually, and he didn’t need to rush anything for it to matter. he never fidgeted. never scrambled for words. his voice was low and smooth, his body language relaxed, like even his heartbeat had better things to do than hurry.

and for some reason, being around him made it easier to breathe.

⋆⋆⋆

the first time you met, you thought he was bored with you.

you were talking too much — you knew it — rambling about something stupid, probably, voice jumping from subject to subject with no landing point. you saw the way he just blinked at you, nodding slowly, like he was listening but… wasn’t saying anything.

you apologized.

“sorry — i’m all over the place. i’m being annoying, huh?”

he didn’t answer right away.

just leaned back against the wall, hands in his hoodie pocket, and looked at you in that quiet, thoughtful way he did.

“nah,” he said finally, “you’re just fast. i’ll catch up.”

and that was it. he never told you to slow down. never acted like you were too much. never made you feel like you had to explain the way your mind worked.

he just… stayed.

and over time, you realized that’s what he did best. tom didn’t try to fix the parts of you that made you spin — he anchored them.

⋆⋆⋆

nights were the hardest.

when things got quiet, and there was nothing left to distract you, your brain filled in all the silence with static. the anxiety crept in like it had been waiting at the door all day.

sometimes it was little things — “did i text back too fast?” “why did i say that out loud?” “what if he gets tired of me?” — and sometimes it was just this weight in your chest, heavy and directionless.

and he always knew.

you’d be pacing your room, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, mind running laps — and then your phone would buzz.

tom: u up?

you: yeah

tom: front door

you never knew how he timed it so perfectly.

he’d come inside without needing to ask, drop his bag on your floor, and wordlessly open his arms like he already knew what you needed. and you’d go — arms around his waist, face tucked into his chest, body still buzzing with the last of your nervous energy.

“i hate my brain.” you’d mumble into his shirt.

and he’d rub your back slowly. “don’t say that.”

“i do. it won’t shut up.”

“i like your brain.”

“you like chaos?”

“i like your chaos.”

you’d breathe in the smell of him — sandalwood, clean laundry, cigarette smoke and faint guitar string metal — and for the first time all day, your pulse would slow.

⋆⋆⋆

he had this way of balancing you without even trying.

you talked too much; he listened with his eyes, not just his ears. you interrupted yourself; he waited for the end, even if it took a while to get there. you forgot things; he remembered what mattered.

you needed noise sometimes, just to feel okay — music, humming, fingers tapping on your leg — and tom would just turn the stereo on low, thumb tracing soft circles on your knee while you sat beside him.

and when you got overwhelmed — when it all got too much, and you couldn’t finish a sentence without tripping over your own thoughts — he never looked frustrated. never sighed or told you to calm down.

instead, he’d reach for your hand and gently squeeze.

“you’re okay.” he’d whisper.

and somehow… you believed it.

⋆⋆⋆

one night, you asked him, “doesn’t it exhaust you? being with me?”

he looked up from his guitar, brow slightly raised. “what?”

“i’m like… a mess. i’m either bouncing off the walls or freaking out. and you’re just…” you motioned vaguely toward him, “zen. all the time. it’s gotta be exhausting.”

tom set his guitar down and leaned toward you.

“you’re not exhausting.” he said.

“yeah, but—”

“you make the world louder, yeah,” he added, smirking, “but in the best way. you make it feel alive.”

you blinked, caught off guard.

he shrugged. “you fill all the quiet parts.”

and you didn’t say anything after that. just leaned into him and let the quiet settle around you both — full now, not empty.

⋆⋆⋆

the worst came when you two argued.

it started small. like it always did.

a text left on read. a call he didn’t answer. the way he’d seemed distracted the last few days — not cold, just… not present either. not the way he used to be.

your brain, already twitchy from too much energy and too little structure, didn’t need much fuel to light the match.

he’s pulling away.

he’s bored.

he’s finding someone calmer. easier. better.

you hated that voice.

hated how convincing it was when you were spiraling. hated how it made your skin itch and your breath feel too fast, too shallow. hated that it always ended the same way — a blow-up. something raw and too loud and full of fear.

and tonight, it snapped.

he’d come over late, kicked off his sneakers, kissed your cheek like always — but it wasn’t enough.

not for the storm inside you.

“where were you today?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual. you failed.

“studio.” he said, flopping on the bed.

“with who?”

he raised an eyebrow. “the guys. same as always.”

you nodded, pacing a little. your fingers dug into the hem of your hoodie. “you didn’t answer my texts.”

“i was working.”

“you usually text me back.”

tom looked up at you then — slowly, calmly — and sat up. “okay. what’s going on?”

you bit your lip. your eyes were already stinging. “i don’t know. i just—something feels off. like… you’re drifting. like i’m talking and you’re not really here.”

his brows furrowed. “i’m literally here, baby.”

“not really,” you snapped, “not like before.”

he blinked, surprised by your tone. “where is this coming from?”

“i don’t know,” you said, voice rising, “maybe because i can feel when you’re not fully with me. maybe because you’re always so chill and unreadable and i don’t know if you’re happy or counting down the seconds until you can leave.”

his jaw tensed. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“put words in my mouth. assume the worst.”

“i’m not assuming, tom, i’m feeling it,” you shot back, chest tight, “and maybe that’s on me, okay? maybe i’m just paranoid or clingy or too much but i can’t turn it off.”

he stood up then, voice firmer than before. “i never said you were too much.”

“you don’t have to,” you whispered, “i see it in the way you look away when i start talking too fast. i see it in the silence. in the patience that feels more like tolerance.”

tom exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “you think i’m just tolerating you?”

you shrugged, arms crossing, trying to fold yourself into something smaller. “some days, yeah.”

he stared at you for a moment. his eyes didn’t soften — not yet. they held something like heartbreak.

“you really think i’d stay in this — with you — if i didn’t want to be?”

you sobbed, a tear slipping down before you could stop it.

“i don’t know what to think when my brain’s moving faster than i can keep up.”

that’s what did it.

he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms, tight, grounding. you were stiff at first — still wound up, still wired — but he didn’t let go.

“i don’t care how fast you spin,” he murmured into your hair, “i’m not letting go. not now. not ever.”

your fingers clutched the back of his hoodie like a lifeline.

“i hate being like this,” you choked, “i hate that i keep doubting you. i know it’s not fair.”

he pulled back just enough to cup your face. his thumb wiped the tear from your cheek, gentle but sure.

“i’d rather you come at me with all your panic than shut me out,” he said stroking your cheeks, wiping the tears away, “you can be scared. just let me be there when you are.”

you nodded, breath hitching.

“next time,” he whispered, “tell me what you need instead of what you’re afraid of.”

you swallowed. “i need you to still love me when i’m not making it easy.”

“i do,” he said, without a beat, “i always do.”

you didn’t need to change for him.

he never made you feel like you had to.

your energy didn’t scare him. your nerves didn’t push him away. your spirals, your noise, your fire — he didn’t just tolerate it. he held space for it. and somewhere along the way, you realized that maybe you didn’t have to hate the way your brain worked.

because he didn’t.

and if he could love you like this — messy, scattered, fast — then maybe you could learn to love yourself like this, too.

[sanjisluvbot]

Isekai Yandere Strawhats CH II

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The book stayed on her mind for the next few days. Everywhere she went, it felt like someone was watching her. Y/n found herself rereading the letter and the book whenever she was free. She went over every page and squinted to see if she could find a hint of something more. Her mind kept wandering to the possibility of a connection between Open Your Mind, whoever N.R was, and her journey. 

From the characters to the feeling of fate, the world-building was all familiar but new. She wanted to believe it was just her imagination, but there was a lingering thought of ‘what if’.

What if the author of this silly little book had experienced the same things she did? As she lay in bed, looking at the ceiling, the letters from Law she reread for the nth of times on her nightstand, she began feeling a sliver of excitement.

The letters had been so cryptic, yet so hopeful. The steps she needed to open the portal were clear enough but from the letter from ‘L’ she believed there to be something more to the story. There must be something she was missing. 

The instructions had said she needed to wait for a “month of stabilizing” before attempting to open the portal, the truth was, the thought of really meeting Law again, seeing them all again, filled her with an intoxicating mixture of excitement and fear.

She let out an angry huff at herself there was nothing truly to be excited about, especially when there was a letter from a random ‘L’. The random letter could have been from Luffy and the crew, but, thinking of that world that she once knew, when everything was still shiny, new, and exciting her heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.

She sat up from her bed quickly heading to the kitchen huffing and puffing like a 1940s cartoon character. She’d moved on, hadn’t she? She had a whole new life now—-closer than ever to family and friends—-but how could one forever truly forget the magic of that world?

That feeling of belonging, the constant adventure without the worry of assignments, money, etcetera. The strawhats were her fantasy that jumped off the page and Law jumped right into her heart. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the teapot boiling.

She hummed pouring the water into her cup anticipating the camomille to calm down her brain. With the cup in her hand, she quietly padded through the hall back to her room to see her phone dimly lit up. 

A text.

Have you started?

Her heart skipped a beat. She glanced at the calendar—April was nearly halfway through. “ Shit.” She whispered. Time was ticking faster than expected she needed to get moving. But where would she begin?

How could she be 100% sure that the portal would work? What happens if Law isn’t on the other side? She felt overwhelmed and quickly sipped the tea to calm herself. “Thank god for camomille,”

She briskly typed back:

I need a little bit more time but I’m working on it.

Don’t Worry.

The warm tea soothed her nerves as she began writing down her plans for the next week when she realized she had no idea who the text was from. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, the weight of the decision hanging heavy on her chest.

There were too many unknowns for this not to be too good to be true. The number of unforeseen variables was enough to send her right to bed that night, leaving her teacup half full. 

She dreamt of them. The smell of the sea air, the wind flowing through her and Nami’s hair as they picked tangerines, the chaos that raved through the boat. Although brief, that world had been hers too, The strawhats scared the shit out of her but the bliss of that dream had fully made up her mind before she was even lucid. 

Y/n was returning to the world of OnePiece to finish what she started.

The last few weeks of April and the early days of March were filled with study sessions, late-night preparations, and endless questions that made the back of her throat itch. Y/n made sure to follow every step diligently: no electronics at night, keep the curtains open during the day, and ensure that the mirror stays spotless.

But the anxiety never truly left her, no matter what tea she drank or what she did to distract her restless mind. 

Despite the lingering doubts, she knew it was only a matter of time before the portal opened. One night after the other, when she knew her mother was asleep and the house was quiet, she stood in front of the mirror.

Making sure it was pristine and hoping to find out which ‘L’ was waiting for her on the other side. Her fingers hesitated to brush against the glass, and for a second, she wondered if this was all a dream and she would wake up in a psych ward. 

On Thursday, March 7th, she felt the hum of power in the air. The little hairs on her neck stood tall and the moon was full shining through her window. She bit her lip till it almost bled and closed her eyes, just as instructed, visualizing the portal opening.

The seconds dragged on, each one stretching over what felt like the course of a thousand years. She opened her eyes and saw…nothing. Her reflection was the same as it always has been. 

But just as she was about to give up, there was a flash of light, and the mirror flickered like an old television screen. Y/n gasped as the image distorted, and for the briefest of moments, she thought she saw something—or someone—on the other side.

A face.

Trafalgar Law.

Her heart raced, her palms clammy with anticipation. She reached out, hand trembling as she touched the mirror once more. The surface felt different now, softer, warmer. There was a crackle of energy, and she heard a faint voice.

“You did it.”

It was Law's voice, unmistakable. Her breath caught in her throat as she took a step forward.

🏷️: @angstylittleb1tch @thepinktiredfreak @littleplantofdeath @chipster-321 @wguvudqhij @elektraeriseros @virgocathaunted @zola-exp

A/N: Idk how long you’ve waited but I hope this was worth the wait and IYLSM FOR WAITING !!!!😭 🫶🏽🫵🏽

[cosmal]

red solo cup — send me an au + a character n i’ll write u a blurb ie rockstar!sirius rugby!james bartender!eddie

ooooo spidersona!eddie maybe? i've been seeing some spider-man aus recently and i'm super curious how you think eddie would b as a webslinger. 🤍

patches

summary spidey!eddie is a little too blasé about the way he treats himself on patrol.

content spidey!eddie x reader

note i loved this req pls!!! ilysm for this xxx I didn’t write it how I wanted too my writers block killed me halfway through

Eddie never had to scale a building to get inside his home. He lived in a trailer. Which was fine with him - he’s lazy sometimes and it’s all he’d ever known. Being a vigilante doesn’t pay well.

And then you and Eddie move into a 42 story apartment building in Queens, New York. So he has to swing in through the window via the fire escape. At the end of his night shift, he’s definitely lazier than he wants to admit. Why do we have to live on the 39th floor?

He’s had a regular night. A few knife fights, carjackings, and attempted muggings. Nothing out of the ordinary for New York City on a Friday night. So, despite Eddie’s super human strength and stamina, he’s tired when he lands at his window. Eddie’s idea of a regular night isn’t all that true.

He clambers in and you don’t even turn from where you’re sitting at your vanity.

“Y’know, one day it won’t be me coming in through this window.” Eddie laughs, his voice muffled by spandex.

You look at him in the reflection of your mirror, he stands back, over your shoulder, leaning on your shared wardrobe.

“Whoever it is, they won’t leave sticky webs on our windowsill,” you laugh. You have shiny patches under your eyes, your hair pushed back out of your face.

Eddie takes off his mask and his hair springs out of it. You’ve always wondered how it fits it all inside the spandex — you’re sure it’s magic, it defies physics.

Eddie’s got a black eye. You finally turn around and forget about the mess. “Ed’s,” you tut, there’s worry in your voice, but also a touch of disappointment. “What happened?”

Eddie laughs and you frown. “Some guy tried to rob the 7-Eleven down the block.”

You disappear down the hall suddenly and come back with a blue ice brick he’s become all too accustomed to. You wrap it in a wet hand towel and move Eddie to sit down on the bed. He leans back on his hands and you stand between his legs.

He’s bruised and scraped. The top layer of skin broken, blood beads from start to finish. You hold the pack to his face and he winces. You wrinkle your face up with a sadness and Eddie reaches forward to grab your hip. Your pyjama top bunches under his hold, he decides to slip his thumb into the waistband of your pants.

“You’re too reckless,” you murmur.

“No, I’m not.” Eddie doesn’t know why he says it.

“Eddie.”

“Baby.”

You sigh. "You're bleeding, and you're all bruised up." These all feel like repeated words that always fall on deaf ears. "You want me to sew your suit up?"

There's a tear in his suit over his collarbone. "I can do it." Eddie has sewn up countless holes in his jackets, he thinks he's a bit of an expert now.

You tie his hair back out of his face with a hairtie from your wrist. "Did you kick some ass?"

Eddie admires how brave you are, a lot. "So much ass," he says.

"If your hop in the shower, I'll wash your suit and heat up your dinner," you tell him. Eddie turns his head and kisses the palm of your hand where it rests on his face.

"I'll wash my stuff, baby." He starts to take off his suit. It's stuck to his ribs with dried up blood. "I'm not that hungry, don't worry about me."

"Even superheroes need to eat," you tell him. "I've made meatballs."

Eddie's stomach grumbles. "Okay. I'll shower and then get my patches out."

"Patches? Eddie you can't stick a Metallica logo on your suit."

"Watch me."